Output list
weefatfella's (weefatfella on UKA) UKArchive
84 Archived submissions found.
| Title |
|---|
| The Baobab Tree ( 4 ) (posted on: 11-04-16) Busisiwe Finds love in the moonlight. 
The Baobab Tree ( 4 )
Thulani's robe shone brightly against the dark wall of trees towering over the river. The water moved silently between the banks. Glimmering ripples appeared here and there on the surface as strange creatures rose to take release from the murky depths.
Busisiwe watched As he swung the boat into mid-stream. The bow of the dugout flashed brightly as the wake ran high along the fast moving vessel. Pearls of moonlight glinted as they rolled down the staff, then flared again as they impatiently stretched themselves before returning to the river.
Thulani bent his knees and sent his pole deep into the water. It bobbed back quickly, shredding white lace as it did. The boat dipped and rolled as he worked harder to push against the fast flowing current.
'What was he searching for as he clambered around inside her mind? He had behaved perfectly before his 'invasion'. She didn't feel he had violated her, no, it was more like disappointment. Thulani had broken her trust. He had no right to have taken that liberty'.
She smiled. Remembering the crocodile, she focused on the surface of the water just in front of the boat and imagined an even larger and more terrifying reptile.
The water began to heave. Two huge nostrils snorting steam and water spray broke the surface. A thick, wet, knobbly hide trailing vegetation and dripping water covered a massive maw. Two bulbous eyes blinked in unison as the black beast wriggled quickly out of the river and sunk its huge curved talons into the gunwale of Thulani's boat. With its head swinging from side to side and its huge tooth filled jaws dripping,it began to pull itself into the boat. A wide fan of white water sprayed out to either side as the behemoth's powerful, thrashing tail forced it further and further out of the river.
The water running off the flat bottom of Thulani's canoe sparkled as it cleared the surface. The back legs of the crocodile scraped loudly on the side of the dugout as they searched hungrily for a grip; finally they found purchase on the wide lips of the axe carved canoe. The crocodile roared and the water heaved as the black beast drew itself wholly into the narrow vessel.
Thulani sprung quickly onto the rear of his boat, using his staff he righted the canoe and lifted his pole above his head. Hand over hand he spun. Faster and faster it went, soon it became a bright spinning disc, Drawing himself to his full height he stepped toward the beast.
''Buyahamba Ingwenya''
There was a bright flash, the air cracked loudly, and the huge crocodile disappeared. The river continued to slice its way between the banks. The quarter moon shone palely as it kept its silent vigil.
Thulani turned his head toward Busisiwe; his eyes flashed fire inside his hood. Holding his staff in his left hand, he raised his open right palm in innocence towards the medicine woman.
''You learn quickly Sangoma...Why did you send the ingwenya against me. I have done you no harm?
Busisiwe's eyes blazed, lifting both arms in disbelief, she half turned, then spun back with her right hand raised and pointing accusingly towards the boatman.
''No harm Thulani?''
''You who pretend to be my protector... You who say you care for the spirits who find themselves in your charge.''
She pointed again, this time more forcefully,
''You, who go tramping around inside someone's head, sticking your eyes and fingers into my secret places, you who say this is doing no harm. Why have you done this to me? My 'protector'''
Thulani pushed his boat back towards the jetty. He stepped onto the platform, and leaning with both hands on his staff, he beseeched the medicine woman.
''You fascinate me Busisiwe. Everything here is without life, but you...You glow with life's energy. You are alive where all is not.
He swung his left arm in an all-encompassing arc.
''Time has no meaning here Sangoma; here it is always night. The passage of one night to another is measured in the lifetimes of men.''
He took a few steps towards her. His eyes were pulsating embers in the darkness of his hood.
''You are alive Busisiwe...You have brilliance, a radiance. You are vibrant, and there is a power in you. Maybe it's your need to save your people Sangoma. Maybe it's just life itself, but your aura glows. I have never seen this before.''
He stepped off the jetty, and still speaking, he walked steadily towards her.
''When you passed from your world to this, and appeared before me, I was astonished. You are unique Busisiwe.''
As he neared her, she took a step backwards.
''I mean you no harm Sangoma. When I tramped around inside your head,' as you put it. My intent was in response to you. You gave me the time honoured signals that male and female have been giving each other since the beginning of time itself.
Although I'm a Daemon, and not Human, I have the same natural response to a human female as a man would have. My intentions were dictated by your actions Busisiwe.
When we kissed you lowered your barriers, your mind was laid bare before me. With you being what you are, I couldn't refuse the opportunity''.
Busisiwe placed her hands on her hips and tipped her head. While walking towards the boatman, she smiled mischievously as she asked.
''Beautiful Thulani... You said beautiful.''
She continued towards him.
''Fascinating Thulani, You said fascinating''
She stretched up and wrapped both her arms around Thulani's neck, she drew him towards her. When their lips touched there was an explosion.
She found herself in a quickly spinning and rising emotional typhoon. As she rose into the clouds of Thulani's consciousness, all of him was laid bare. His memory, his desires and ambitions, all that he was, was revealed to her. He held nothing back. She was amazed. Thulani was as old as time itself.
The spirits who had found themselves in his care through the ages, passed in front of her one after another until they merged into a faceless stream. All that the boatman had said was true. His fascination with her, his sorrow at having upset her, and strangely, for so short a time of meeting, his love for her.
Archived comments for The Baobab Tree ( 4 ) Mikeverdi on 11-04-2016 The Baobab Tree ( 4 ) And the story moves on, still enjoying the tale WFF 😊 Author's Reply: 
Thanks Mike. I'm still scribbling away at this. I haven't been very well recently, so havent been giving it my full attention. I'll be back to the river soon though. |
The Baobab Tree. (3) (posted on: 11-03-16) Busisiwe feels betrayed. 
Small protruding rocks and the footprints of those who had gone before helped her up the steep slope. The trail led off to the right for some distance before the moonlight highlighting the white boulders revealed a sharp turn to the left. She walked carefully along the path glancing into the wood on either side as she went.
Broad, jagged leaves like the legs of huge black spiders had wrapped themselves around the stones and were pulling them back into the darkness. Tall trees stepped closer to the trail, their thick trunks closing off the moonlight and their wide shadows blackening the already gloomy forest.
Busisiwe stopped, holding her digging stick between herself and whatever may fly out of the night; she leaned forward and peered in between the gaps in the trees. A thin, silvery mist floated slowly through the forest, pausing now and then to give a more intimate 'excuse me' with a light sensual touch, as it slipped silently between and around the trees.
As she looked, the limbs and branches became tortured souls writhing in agony. Leaves and thorns shaped themselves into devils and demons. Shadows stretched out long arthritic fingers through the spectral haze, and menacing eyes glared from the void between the trees. When a long gnarled finger beckoned her, she turned quickly back to the river bank.
Thulani was in his boat alongside the jetty. Hearing her coming, he stood on the platform and looked up at her.
''Busisiwe, why are you still here? You should be with the N'ganga now.''
''There are evil creatures in the forest Thulani. I cannot pass them.''
''They are of your own making Sangoma. You have given life to them. Deny them and they will no longer exist.''
She ran lightly down the slope as she asked,
''How is this done?''
While walking towards him, she raised both arms and made a circle, as she said,
''All this is new to me... This 'Spirit world'...I'm lost here... Please Thulani; help me to understand this place.''
She stopped a few feet from him and rested her arms on her hips. Thulani took a step towards her and held out his hand.
''Do you see this beautiful flower Busisiwe?''
He opened his hand, a large white flower head rested in his palm. He closed his fingers, when he opened his hand again, the flower had gone.
''You can do this Busisiwe; think of the same flower in your hand, and it will be so.''
She closed her eyes and holding her right hand at arm's length, she concentrated: No sooner had she visualised the blossom, when she felt something soft in her palm. ...She opened her fist, the petals unfolded along with her fingers. There, lying in the middle of her open palm was the same beautiful white flower.
Laughing, she tossed it into the air and thought of her favourite little bird, the flower changed immediately into, not one, but three little green bee eaters. She clapped her hands together and turned to the boatman. He was standing with his hands out and his palms open. She couldn't tell if he was smiling, his head was forever inside his cowl. She felt he was though.
Thulani, took a step forward, towering above her he placed both hands on her shoulders. Busisiwe pushed her head back as she attempted to see into the depths of his cowl. Only the feint glow of his eyes shone from the darkness.
The boatman raised both hands, the light rippled along the edges of his hood as he slowly pushed it back, letting it drop silently onto his shoulders.
Busisiwe's eyes widened. The moon, which had such a profound and defining role to play with everything else in this world, had no business here. Thulani's skin was so black, the moonlight wasn't reflected, it was absorbed.
Time had gouged deep, wavering furrows along his otherwise smooth forehead. His white eyebrows clung precariously to his brow. Like the petals of the protea flower, they looked ready to fly off in all directions. The whites of his eyes shone, not just white, but the white from a thrashing wave at its zenith, just before it falls once more onto the surface of a deep, blue, rolling sea. His irides were the sea, powerful and ancient.
A strong broken nose commanded his face. His full lipped mouth, which he held slightly open as though he were about to speak, was silent, apart from a flash from his white teeth.
Two silver rivers of hair swirled and splashed down each side of his head. They met just below his cheekbones where they collided with his beard and moustache before cascading in a boiling torrent into the depths of his robe.
He cupped her chin and lifted her face towards him. Holding her delicately he lowered his head close to hers. His warm breath ran along her cheek lifting her hair just above her ear, he felt her tremble. His moustache tickled as it ran feather-like across her top lip. Then he pressed his lips to hers.
She pulled him closer, his body was hard, there was very little give from his muscled frame, she lifted her hand and grasped the nape of his neck. She squeezed firmly before sliding her hand up and scraping the front of her nails lightly on the roots of his short hair.
His left hand slipped behind her ear, as he drew his hand lightly down the nape of her neck, his index finger slipped into that hollow, he stroked her there, until he felt her shudder.
He ran his hand around her neck and followed the shape of her bare shoulder before descending to her waist.
Her heart was pounding. . She could feel her legs trembling; she shifted her feet to try to calm the tremors. He broke away from the kiss leaving her giddy and breathless, but wanting more.
The kiss was wonderful, but there was something else. She was attracted to this mysterious boatman; he was a strong, confident warrior, the way he dealt with the crocodile... No one could say he was handsome though... interesting yes, but definitely not handsome. Her thoughts returned again to the kiss. He was all over her, but it was emotionally flat, as though something else was on his mind.
The physical touching and the kiss itself was a distraction. He was probing her, probing her mind, she felt him there, in, and among her most secret places. Tip-toeing through her mind, touching this, caressing that, delicately lifting the lids on her most intimate secrets. Yet he did so with care. He was gentle in his curiosity. She was confused.
He was standing in front of her smiling that plausible perfect smile.
The moonlight bounced and tripped along the wooden slats of the quay. The river, an unconcerned silver ribbon flowed relentlessly past the landing stage. Thulani's boat dipped in the water as it took his weight. He lifted his pole and pushed off from the pier. The boat slipped into the current easily. He turned to her and called.
''Guard your thoughts well my little Sangoma; in this place, only your own fears have the power to harm you. Go now to the N'ganga, they know you are here and are waiting for you in their village through the trees.''
To be continued...
©Weefatfella 2016.
Archived comments for The Baobab Tree. (3) Mikeverdi on 11-03-2016 The Baobab Tree. (3) Still enjoying this Paul, some great descriptions. You have taken us on a very different journey with this story. Mike ps. I was wondering about the dandelion? Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike. I'm loving my change of style. I'm getting excited now, when a new idea pops up. At my age Mike; anything that pops up is always a bonus.The Lion's Tooth or Dandelion, does grow in S Africa. I decided not to use the former for a more fluent read. Ps, I've updated the piece Mike. The 'Dandelion' as you rightly pointed out was clunky and detracted from the story. I have edited that and tweeked a few other wee annoyances. Thanks again mate for your always constructive critique. Weefatfella. Pronto on 12-03-2016 The Baobab Tree. (3) Great, well written fable Paul I love tales like this. More please! Author's Reply:
Cheers mate, I'm fair chuffed you like it. I'm determined to finish this. Weefatfella. franciman on 22-03-2016 The Baobab Tree. (3) Paul, this fixes the reader. It makes him curious, yet reluctant to run ahead of the descriptions. The man, when seen from neath his cowl - now that's writing of the highest order. Not surprised she's attracted; I was! Can I just say there isn't too much dialogue and yet both characters are fully drawn. I loved the flirtatious nature of her spinning with her arms raised> You have a winner here, mate. Author's Reply: 
Thank you very much for your wonderful comments Jim. I have to say I'm completely flabbergasted. It is however, spurring me on. Onwards and upwards. Weefatfella. franciman on 22-03-2016 The Baobab Tree. (3) Paul, I'm trying to nominate this piece, but the system won't let me. I'll persevere.... cheers, Jim Author's Reply:
Thank you very much again Jim. My Flabber is still in a gasted state. Weefatfella. |
| The Baobab Tree (Cont) (posted on: 26-02-16) Busisiwe's journey continues along the river to meet her ancestors. 
The Baobab Tree (Cont)
The quarter moon, hiding behind the thin and twisted limbs of a tall acacia tree, cast its hesitant light onto the surface of a slow, swirling river. A tall boatman, wearing a long silk robe which shimmered in the moon's glow, was poling a narrow dugout across the river's glistening surface. The prow of the boat rose as the boatman pushed it forward; silver folds of moonlight lifted from the water and rushed along the boats rough-hewn edges before returning quietly into the inky depths.
Busisiwe lay unconscious on the floor of the boat. The dull, hollow plop of something pushing its way through the surface of deep water and the slap of hands on wood awakened her. As she tried to sit up, the vessel shot forward and she was thrown onto her back.
''Forgive me Sangoma, but I have to move the canoe speedily along the river. There are sometimes creatures here that would be more than happy to have a boatman and a medicine woman for supper.''
Busisiwe sat quickly up and turned to see who had spoken. The melodic bass voice had come from the depths of a dark cowl high on the shoulders of the tallest human being she had ever seen.
''Where am I? How did I get here?''
''Your body is fast asleep and sitting with your arms wrapped around a great baobab tree. I am taking your spirit along this very deep and extremely dangerous waterway.''
''It is true then. The tree is the portal?''
''The tree is the focus Sangoma, you are the portal''
Busisiwe smiled.
''Who are you?''
''I am Thulani; I wait for those who enter here, whether they come for a short time, or for eternity.''
''I did it; I made it into Izwe Lemimoya, the spirit world. Khanyisile my dear old teacher, you taught me well.''
She turned excitedly to the boatman and began to stand while asking...
''Thulani, can you take me to the N'ganga? I have to speak to them. There are so many sick in my village. I have tried all I know to cure them of their afflictions, but nothing I have done has helped.''
As her weight shifted in the thin dugout, it began to rock. She bent down and gripped the sides to maintain both her balance and that of the boat. In her panic, she shook the canoe even more. The water thrashed and the gunnels of the boat dipped into the water. She panicked and threw herself onto the floor.
Suddenly the surface of the water began to bulge and roar, it parted, and a huge open mouth, dripping water, and filled with rows of jagged teeth, broke through. A monstrous black crocodile towered above the small boat. Two muscular feet with long, vicious, and razor sharp claws grabbed the side of the dugout. The huge belly of the beast slowly began to roll forward into the boat. The fragile canoe's side dipped below the surface and the water rushed in.
''Sangoma! You must stop this. Send the Ingwenya away. It is you who have called it.''
Busisiwe was crouched in the boat with her hands over her eyes and her knees at her chest. Her feet were pounding on the floor of the dugout as she screamed in terror. The boatman, realizing the medicine woman was too terrified to communicate, lifted his pole and turned to face the beast.
Thulani raised the pole above his head and holding it in both hands he made it spin. A low humming noise filled the air. The crocodile roared and thrashed its tail sending more water splashing into the now nearly submerged canoe. bending forward the beast thrust its long tooth-filled mouth below the spinning disc and snapped its huge jaws at Thulani's head, he shifted slightly to the right. The vicious mouth closed with a loud snap as it bit the air beside his left ear. The boatman began to spin the rod faster and faster. The pole became a flashing silver whirlpool above his head. Maintaining a constant speed he took one step forward bringing the wood into contact with the crocodile.He yelled,
''Buyahamba ingwenya!''
As the silver disc of the spinning pole touched the animal, there was a bright flash and the crocodile disappeared.
Thulani laid the pole on the floor of the canoe and turned to the still screaming woman.
''Sangoma,Sangoma, you must listen to me.''
The woman, still screaming, couldn't hear him. Taking her head gently in his hands, he spoke in a whisper.
''Hush now, Sangoma Busisiwe. I have banished the crocodile; he can no longer hurt you. I have sealed your thoughts from this place; you can no longer manifest your fears. Be still Busisiwe, nothing here can harm you. I will not allow it.''
With his confident and assured ' I will not allow it,' Busisiwe lowered her hands and looked into the dark cowl in front of her. Thulani's sparklingly blue eyes were all she could see in the darkness there, they were the most trusting and caring eyes she had ever seen, her fears began to subside.
Thulani stood, his shoulders began to shake, he clapped his hands hard together, his robe shone in the moonlight as he turned away from her. When he turned back and pointed towards her, he was laughing.
''Busisiwe, I said I have sealed your mind from manifesting any horrors in this place, but you have defeated me. Who has put this head on your shoulders, Sangoma? Who has brought this fierce and ugly devil into my canoe?''
Busisiwe laughed. The paint had spread all over her hands and face, even for a practiced medicine woman who had painted a demon face-mask to frighten the old Baobab. Her tears and the water from the river had created a more terrifying monster.
Thulani picked up his pole and still smiling, he took up his position. He placed his feet on both gunnels and began again to pole the boat along the river.
Busisiwe took a cloth from her belt and began to unfold it. She looked back at Thulani while holding the cloth over the side of the canoe, he nodded. She dipped the cloth into the river and began to banish the demon from her face. Looking up again at the boatman she asked.
''How do you know my name Thulani? I don't remember telling you.''
''When I sealed your mind from this place Sangoma; I could see all. I know how much your people mean to you, and I know how hard you have tried to save them from their illness. I hope the N'ganga can help you. They hold the knowledge of many generations Busisiwe. We will be there soon.''
They travelled along for another mile. The river began to widen and boats could be seen tied to a low platform at the riverside. Singing could be heard and there was the inviting smell of meat cooking on the air. Light flickered in the trees beyond the river bank and smoke drifted up to create the only clouds in the sky.
Thulani steered his boat alongside the pontoon and grabbed one of the wooden supports. He stepped onto the platform and offered his hand to the medicine woman.
''Sangoma, we are here. You will have to continue on your own. I must stay by the river.''
Busisiwe lifted her digging stick and placed her free hand in his. His skin was soft but firm and she could sense power in his gentle grip. She pulled herself up beside him, and put her hand on his chest. His body was strong and hard, feigning dizziness she rested her head against his body and inhaled deeply; the clean, strong man smell was overpowering.
Thulani gently eased her from him.
''You are here Busisiwe.''
He pointed toward a wide pathway lined with white stones which lead up towards the fires and into the trees.
''Follow the path Sangoma; it will take you where you want to go. When you are ready to go home, I will be waiting.''
Busisiwe reluctantly left her protector's side and headed up the banking towards the trees.
To be continued.
©Weefatfella.
Archived comments for The Baobab Tree (Cont) Rab on 26-02-2016 The Baobab Tree (Cont) Wow again. This is very good stuff Paul. It builds well and I'm looking forward to the next instalment. Ross Author's Reply:
Thanks again Ross; Whit yie like? Weefatfella. franciman on 26-02-2016 The Baobab Tree (Cont) You have a great gift, pal. The voice is seductive, the narrative has great integrity, and the dialogue comes across as authentic and unstrained. On a personal note, I felt the first part needed a bit more dialogue, though I can see why that might not be possible! Looking forward to more of this. cheers, Jim Author's Reply:
Jim, you have cheered me no end mate. The purpose of critique, as far as I've learned is to help the writer to learn and improve. Another great effect of constructive critique is to encourage the writer. This you have accomplished in spades Jim. Thank You again. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 27-02-2016 The Baobab Tree (Cont) Got to say this is so different from you Paul. I like the way the story is building; theres a magical, maybe spiritual element running through it. Clearly this is more than a 'short', so looking forwards to more. Mike Author's Reply:
Thanks again Mike for taking the time to read and more importantly, to comment. I'm really enjoying this one. There's a bust of an African woman on the sideboard across from me as I write. ( bust being the operative word. The family call her 'The Boobies.) Maybe she is exerting her 'fluence' on me. I hope you're feeling well today mate. Keep up the fight. Weefatfella. Weefatfella on 28-02-2016 The Baobab Tree (Cont)
Thank you very much to the 'Nibber' whoever he/she may be. I'm always pleased and encouraged to receive it. Weefatfella. Author's Reply: |
| The Baobab Tree. (posted on: 26-02-16) The Baobab on seeing his reflection in a lake. Complained to the creator that he was not as pretty as the other trees. After the trees constant and bitter complaints, an exasperated God pulled the tree out of the ground and replanted it upside down. The tree could not see himself or the other trees 
The Baobab Tree.
A searing white ball rising slowly from the horizon, cut through the eyelids of a sleeping vulture sitting monk-like on top of an ancient Baobab tree. The bird stretched his long neck and looked around. After releasing a long screeching call to the morning, he bent his powerful legs and unfolded his huge wings; he filled them with air and pushed off from the treetop. A clan of hyenas sleeping in their den near the tree cackled in complaint. The newly awakened sky, red-eyed and embarrassed by the mocking hyenas, blushed.
The rippling reflection of the sun, climbing high, shimmered on the lake surface. Rolling waves unfolded as they ran across the water. Glistening red and gold, they whispered encouragement to each other as they raced to the shoreline.
The two thousand year old Baobab stretched her roots into the lake and drew deeply. She relished the familiar feeling as the cold water flowing into her root systems invigorated her. Her branches strengthened, and her leaves stretched to catch the warming rays of the sunrise.
She mused on the strong rhythmic beating of a bull elephant's heart as it wallowed in the cooling water. The light paddling and the lapping of zebras quenching their thirst at the lakeside lulled her almost back to sleep. The roll of the waves as they hushed the noisy pebbles to silence mellowed the aches of her near two thousand year existence...Her soul lightened at the exhilaration of newly hatched fry as they darted back and forth just below the lake surface.
The sounds of feet stomping, and of bells jingling, the high pitched piercing laughter and the crack of hands slapping together, ripped the silence to shreds. The irritating vibrations of stomping feet permeating through the earth grated on her roots. The roar of displaced water being thrust aside by the huge legs of the bolting elephant, and the sun flashing blindingly white from the water running off the back of the panicking and trumpeting animal as it burst from the lake, wrenched the tree into the present.
A bald, caped medicine woman, with a grotesquely painted face, was standing with her shaking arms and legs wide apart, she opened her toothless mouth and began to sing in a high pitched squeal.
''Great Baobab! You who have the wisdom of the earth mother,.''
As she sang she jumped high into the air. At the peak of her jump, she lifted her gnarled old digging stick to the extent of her right arm. The chirping of shells and hollow beads hanging from her necklaces and armlets, the ringing of bells from her long earrings and anklets, accompanied by howling from her followers, assaulted the senses of the great tree.
The medicine woman's eyes rolled and her long red tongue extended as she threw her head back at an impossible angle down between her shoulder blades. She emitted a leaf splitting saliva filled wail, a drawn out and piercing ululation which tore at the air itself. The sound waves sliced through the bark of the tortured tree, disorienting, and shaking the Baobab to her ancient core.
The medicine woman's neck muscles bulged now as she forced her head forward. Her blazing adrenalin filled eyes glared at the tree. Her cape billowing dramatically behind, framed her head in a bright yellow flame. Her knees hit the ground, the old Blackwood digging stick lifted the dust from the earth as the witch-doctor smacked it with all her strength onto the hard packed surface; cold knives of electricity shot through the ground. The probing, tingling fingers of energy travelled quickly along the Baobab's roots. The great tree began to lose control of her senses as the alien pulses scattered her consciousness.
Spinning in a swirling mist, she attempted to ground herself back to normality. A bull elephant, trumpeting loudly charged towards her, as she prepared herself for the crushing impact, the beast dissolved. A fire rose right in front of her. The medicine woman and her manic followers began pulling and snapping at her lower branches. They waved the torn limbs in the air like trophies before throwing them into the blazing flames.
A cold wind arose fanning the flames, the fire grew hotter and hotter and the twisting and writhing flames grew taller and taller. The constricting fog blackened, and as the foul reek from the fire enveloped her. The old tree closed down her defences and succumbed to the onslaught.
Lost amidst her fears in the terrifying gloom, the Baobab sent tentative senses to assess the damage to her trunk and branches. Her leaves and fruit were healthy, her trunk and bark were also intact. There was no fire, and no snapped branches.
The medicine woman began again. This time she wrapped her arms around the Baobab's water filled trunk, and with her cheek pressed flat to the sponge-like bark, she sang in a low secretive drone.
''I am Busisiwe of the Shabangunu Zulu people. Tell me great Baobab, where are the juiciest berries and roots? Where are the choicest seeds and grubs? Where are the medicines I need to help our sick? We know you know great Muti.
The women linked hands, and while singing and stomping their feet, they circled the old tree. The shaman continued to hum her song.
''There are many in my village that are ill. I am the Inyanga of my people, Where are the N'ganga who came before me great Baobab? Where are the souls of my ancestors whose bones have rested for generations among your roots? Reveal them to me great Muti. I have need of their council.''
The bark of the tree began to shift and pulsate below her cheek. She tried raising her head from the tree, but it was so heavy. Her breathing became laboured, her eyes rolled back and her chin fell to her chest.
To be continued.
Copyright©Weefatfella.2016.Archived comments for The Baobab Tree. Rab on 26-02-2016 The Baobab Tree. Wonderful writing Paul. Totally immersive and vivid. I want to read more. Ross Author's Reply:
Thank you very Much, Ross, for your very kind comment, I'm fair chuffed indeed. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 26-02-2016 The Baobab Tree. Wow! On to part two, full comments after that young Paul. So pleased to see and read your work again. Mike ps. If any lizards turn up in the lake.....😊 Author's Reply:
This began as a comedic take on the differences between men and women shopping.I believe, though, that the story takes on a life of its own and must be allowed to do so. I just followed along. Thanks very much for your encouraging comments Mike. If any lizards pop up here, it's your fault mate. PS. Are crocodiles lizards? Weefatfella. Weefatfella on 28-02-2016 The Baobab Tree.
Thanks to you! the Nibberoo! Weefatfella. Author's Reply: |
| Secrets (posted on: 14-09-15) The women in my family hold secrets especially tightly. 
Secrets.
They were all overcome with secrets and whispers, with hands over mouths and speaking through fingers. Eyes and eyebrows animated, behind cups of coffee...decaffeinated. The need for all this confidence; was to refrain from tempting providence. They are not allowed to tell a man, until at least the twelve-week scan.
When that day came they sat me down. My wife and daughters gathered round. With sparkling eyes and lips unsealed, the secret quickly was revealed. They handed me a photograph, they said was baby's Sonograph.
"It has your nose dad, can't you see?"
I couldn't for the life of me. I twisted it left, I spun it around. I even turned it upside down. No family noses popped out at me, no chins or cheeks to set me free. It looked just like Rorschach's test, so I capitulated...It was for the best.
They each exchanged a grateful sigh in acceptance of my downright lie. Very soon anyone could tell, as previously thin Angela, was beginning to swell. Gestation, with Mother Nature's collusion, soon reached its ultimate conclusion. On that day, all were filled with joy when out popped Angela's bouncing boy.
"Oh! What a handsome baby boy. He looks like me, oh joy, oh joy."
"He has my lovely bright blue eyes, now isn't that a nice surprise."
They each in turn proclaimed connection, with this wee bundle of perfection. I tried in vain to stay aloof, but now I had to tell the truth.
''This young chap here within this cot. I know you'll find it hard to spot. Concentrate, and look in close.
Good God! He has his Papa's nose."
©Weefatfella.
Archived comments for Secrets Ionicus on 15-09-2015 Secrets No matter how hard one tries to hide a secret, the truth will out. Good and rhythmical rhyming Paul. Well done and deserving of few more comments and a 'nib'. Cheers, Luigi Author's Reply:
Gracie Luigi. It's a new venture for me As you know. With you mentioning the nib; it's there! sweetwater on 15-09-2015 Secrets Excellent opening first line,' They were all overcome with secrets and whispers' reminded me of Victorian ladies taking afternoon tea, lovely. Great flow and rhyme, interesting storyline kept me keen to know more as well. π Sue. Author's Reply:
Thank you very much for your kind comments, Sue. Weefatfella. Bozzz on 16-09-2015 Secrets I always find that people find these family likenesses as pleasant surprises. My own reaction is that I would be very concerned indeed if I did not look like a close relative - the implication being that some infidelity has crept in. But Paul you tell it all so beautifully. Bravo to your nose. Yours, David Author's Reply:
Thank you very much, David. If there is any infidelity I'll be sure to sniff it out. Weefatfella. Kipper on 17-09-2015 Secrets Great writing Paul. Presented as a short story and yet the poetic rhyme and rhythm were there throughout. I liked the way it seemed to break through at the end. Lots of pictures in there too to add the the fun, and you didn't have to search for them. More like this please! Michael Author's Reply:
Thanks very much, Michael. Thanks for your supportive comments. I'm really chuffed you enjoyed it. Weefatfella. |
| The Hill. (posted on: 11-09-15) A wee insight into the pleasures of walking slowly. 
The Hill.
I turn the corner and stare up the hill, the silvery tarmac covers it still. There are potholes and cracks and small stones everywhere. There are shiny black lines where they made a repair. There are tall old Chestnuts reaching far into the clouds. There are Hawthornes for hedges and Beech tree shrouds.
I push my cane forward and lean as I go, it won't take me long though I walk fairly slow. I know this hill well; it's the one I know best. I confidently know there are places to rest.
Right, sit on that wall and catch some air. Those are lovely roses hanging there. Stopping like I do, to rest here awhile, it's good to have a bonus that helps me to smile.
Most folks would miss it, as they walk on by. It's a nice edge of silver in my clouds floating high. Nature's palette with her gossamer strokes, renders so tenderly, thus emotion evokes.
Fill the lungs deep, hold, blow slowly out, back in again and fill them throughout. Take up the thumbstick, it's strong and it's stout. It'll help with this climb; it's my crutch and redoubt.
Off I go again then, at my steady pace. There are cocky wee snails, who want to give me a race. There are ants scurrying past carrying their treasure. I see bees buzzing by on her majesty's pleasure.
Oh! There's a wee corner sticking out from that wall, I'll just wander over or I'm certain to fall. I lean on my knees and see how far I've fought. The steps that I've taken and the respite I've sought.
Oh! Here he comes with his headphones and Nike's, he's eating up the road and he's approaching his nineties. I look on with envy as he thunders on past. His water bottle rattling above his wee wrinkly arse. His leathery knees knock as he goes. He has blisters I hope, in between his toes.
Och! Better get on, I don't want to be late and the Sweetness will be looking with concern at the gate. It's not for me she worries; she knows I'll be fine. It's just that I'm carrying her carton of wine.
©Weefatfella.
Archived comments for The Hill. sweetwater on 11-09-2015 The Hill. Oh I love it! The picture doesn't do it justice, you put so much more in front of my eyes with your words than the photo ever could. Every detail you described came alive. And the jogger well, what can one say! :-)) I actually laughed out loud at your last line didn't expect that. Great read, as the nib proves. Sue. Author's Reply:
Thanks very much Sue. This rhyming lark is all new to me. The only poetry I have ever really read is on here and other writing sites. Well, Apart fae Rab the ranter. Robert Burns. I'm really pleased you enjoyed this stuttering attempt and you honour me indeed madam by taking my story into your favourites, thank you very much. Weefatfella. MrMarmite on 12-09-2015 The Hill. Hi. Like Sue I really enjoyed this as at first I thought it was a short story then realized it was a poem.As I love walking and get inspiration when I'm on a good walk,this is right up my street.Great writing ! Cheers. Kevin. Author's Reply:
Cheers Kevin. I have difficulties while walking, especially uphill. This was inspired by a walk uphill to the digs in Bowness on Windermere. It was quite a climb. Thanks again for your supportive comment. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Weefatfella. Pronto on 14-09-2015 The Hill. Very entertaining format the word picture superb and the bite-in-the-arse ending a joy. Right, bugger off and get the wine delivered before she comes to get yer! Author's Reply:
Thanks very much Tony. This is a new thing for me these wee 'Pomes'. I'm pleased you got something from it. Weefatfella. shadow on 17-09-2015 The Hill. Could really identify with this, sounds exactly like me on hills, right down to being shown up by a geriatric.Very funny. Author's Reply:
Hi, Shadow, thanks for your very kind comment. Aye, hills are a bugger. so are fit geriatrics. Weefatfella. |
| Awakening (posted on: 04-09-15) The fortress at Sinai has been destroyed. Aaron blames his complacency and naivety. After some deep soul searching, he reaches a new resolve and comes to a new awareness. 
Awakening.
The raging and slowly spinning pillar roared as it commanded the space once again in front of the Hebrews. Long searing flames hissed and whipped as they burst from the sides, only to be free for a second before the superheated air currents pulled them back again.
Dust clouds drawn by these vortexes, lifted from the desert floor and swirled around the red and blue flames as they fed ferociously from the column. A deafening roar emanated from the inferno as it drew the following host onward at a steady and resolute pace.
The full moon rippled behind the heat haze. The warm air falling slowly among the host provided comfort as it wrapped itself around them. Only when the heat had dissipated fully, did it fall to the sparkling sand at their feet.
Tired and gaunt faces lifted at intervals from the body of the host, illuminated by the flames, they drew strength and courage from the pillar. Proof their God was close and on their side.
A lone horseman silhouetted against the night sky, rode at the front of the long column, his head drifting from side to side. He was searching for his outriders, who would let him know immediately of the slightest hint of danger.
Watchful cavalry, armed with short compound bows for distance, and light lances for more intimate encounters, flanked the defeated and lumbering Hebrews as they made their laborious way through the moonlit desert.
''Everything Aaron, all our hard work, gone!"
Elisabed wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her left arm held her three months old baby boy to her breast as she spoke.
Aaron sat on the floor of Shiphtan's cart with his hands hanging limply over his knees. His long hair hung down, hiding his face.
'It was Leathig. I'm certain of it. When he blocked me with his staff I could sense him, when the powers touched, I knew him, but changed. He felt wrong... I have to find out what has happened. Two years of hard work wiped out in one afternoon.
He lifted his head. His eyes rested on his son and wife. He had believed himself to be secure enough to marry and raise children. How naοve was he? How complacent. He thought the power he'd been given from God was unbeatable. Oh, how wrong he was?
The memory of the mountain fortress exploding from within would stay with him forever. The drums with their incessant cacophony disoriented and frightened the defenders on the walls. The huge, hideous trolls, with their horrifying faces and lethal looking weapons, terrified them. Worst of all; the demon wielding the staff from the massive wagon which I'm nearly certain was Leathig, had sent a thick white cloud towards his defending army.
When the cloud passed over the heads of the soldiers on the walls doing them no harm, he considered it a diversion for something much more terrible. The cloud had seeped silently into the fortress through every opening; it filled every corner of every room.
Around twenty trolls carrying burning torches broke through the defenses and followed the fog into the building. The fortress seemed to draw breath; every particle of the white gas was sucked inside. There was silence for a few seconds before the whole face of the mountain containing their home, exploded with a loud whoosh. The dust and debris from the detonation covered the scene with a new and darker cloud.
Almost all the Hebrews had built up in two years came spinning out in bits and pieces. Furniture, stone walls, bedding, and the burning bodies of the young, the old, and the sick unable to take their place on the wall, were spat out in flames from their homes inside the mountain. After nearly everything had been blown out, the face of the mountain collapsed inward, sealing and burying all that was left, Aaron shuddered.
I have been given the power of God himself, and I still couldn't prevent the demon from destroying our home and killing God knows how many. I have to learn how to use the staff more effectively. Just having the power is not enough. I have to think quickly. I have to know who and what I'm up against. This I now know is a much bigger task than I thought. I need information, I need better-trained troops and I need to be more effective in battle. You may have won this fight demon, but the war has just begun.
He drew his staff towards him and let out a long deep sigh as he stood. He swung the staff around his right shoulder and set it into the baldric on his back... He yawned and stretched. His eyes rested on the column stretching back behind him.
The long bobbing and weaving line of his people trudged wearily behind. He looked into the flame-lit eyes of these, his people. People, with whom he shared ancestors, It was up to him to keep them safe, to find shelter and warmth for every single one of them. This long waving line of humanity, going away into the distant horizon was his, and only his, responsibility.
I have to learn from this defeat. This is just a setback. I must fight back, if I don't, I might as well lead my people back to Ramses and begin again to make bricks for the Egyptians.'
His eyes were drawn to movement on the full moon shimmering high in the sky. Several flocks of large ibis in their long distance V-shaped formation were silhouetted across the lunar surface. They were headed this way.
The huge birds were migrating to the east coast. The rest of the universe, uncaring about any troubles he might have, was going about its own business. His troubles were hi
Wait a minute, it was only the month of Tammuz, and birds don't migrate until Heshvan. There's something wrong here.
He called to one of the cavalry; she turned her head and rode quickly to the side of the cart. She removed her helmet and dropping her head in salute, she said,
''Yes, your grace how may I help?"
''Ride to the front of the column, to Joshua. Tell him we're under attack from the air. A flock of birds or demons or God knows what, is attacking our rear. Do you have a horn?"
She put her hand behind her and from a leather bag; she pulled a long thin bone horn. She put it to her lips. A low pitched note filled the air, the answering call came immediately.
On hearing the warning the Hebrews halted. The young men and women on the outside of the column pulled long spears from the sides of the wagons and formed two lines. The front line took three steps forward and rammed the bases of their eighteen-foot spears into the sand.
Horns sounded above the dull thud of hooves. The neighing and complaining of horses as the cavalry formed ranks, and the Captains shouted orders filled the air. The scurrying of women and children kicked up the dust as they climbed or were helped into the safety of the carts.
Aaron looked to the sky, the 'birds' were closer now. Their bat-like leathery hooked wings folded slowly backwards and forwards as they captured the air to keep them airborne. Their ugly horned troll heads, with dark menacing eyes and wide snarling and salivating mouths, were filled with double rows of sharp, rotting teeth. In their clawed hands were long, poison-tipped spears. Their thin naked and skeletal shoulders pushed hard to operate their large wings as they headed straight for the Hebrews.
Aaron, with staff in hand, jumped out of the cart. With a new awareness and with determination, he made his way towards the back of the column. The war had just begun.
An excerpt from 'New Freedom' A working title.
© Weefatfella.
Archived comments for Awakening Mikeverdi on 06-09-2015 Awakening I liked this Paul, the concept is different and the story is well handled.....I'm not sure about the birds, for me this needs a better explanation, just doesn't flow. It maybe better in the context of the whole book? I still think I would like more 😊 Mike Author's Reply:
You're right Mike. I will have to edit in a better explanation of why Lucifer wants souls etc. I'll do that at a later date. I am too impatient with this. Thanks for spotting it and being so honest. I have removed it and edited to suit. Weefatfella. |
| Curiosity (posted on: 28-08-15) I attempted this wee tale a couple of years ago. I felt it needed better representation. I hope whoever reads it enjoys it. It's mostly true. 
Curiosity
The furnace charge bucket holding twenty tons of assorted scrap, juddered violently as the flames ate through the paraffin soaked rope holding it together.
It shook again. The shiver carried up through the chains to awaken a venture of sleeping, black phoenixes. They slipped from the crane framework, and in long trailing arcs, they dived towards the floor, only to dissipate into clouds of soot on the way.
Suddenly, as the flames burned through the rope, the metal, with a deafening roar pushed the unrestrained basket apart, and crashed into the furnace basin.
A brown and yellow rust cloud rolled up obscuring everything. As it meandered towards the ceiling it folded itself seductively, writhing, and gyrating like a ghostly belly dancer.
The powerful fans inside the extractor hood sucked in the cloud and greedily devoured it; putting an end to the exotic dancing. Seconds later it was discarded into the atmosphere above the foundry roof. Only to fall on the washing lines of the neighbouring houses; inciting the housewives to do an exotic dance of their own.
I activated the hoist and slowly drew the bucket free. Wee Francy the furnaceman, gave the inside of the bucket a good looking over, when he was satisfied, he signaled for me to swing it out and lower it to allow him to thread and tie a new rope. I lowered the basket to where I thought Francy could reach the rings - then I raised it.
The wee man swaggered over with the rope in hand. After checking the height and finding it too high, Francy knowing I was at the windup, took a run towards the hanging basket. When he neared the bucket he launched himself flinging his arms in an over -exaggerated attempt to reach the loops. He fell short by a few inches.
He continued back and forward with these shenanigans for a few minutes. I sat back and watched the show before lowering the basket. When I did, Francy removed his 'bunnett' and before retying the bucket, he made a mock flourishing curtsy in the manner of a medieval French flunky.
I put the basket back in the transfer bogie and after expertly jiggling the chains free, I sat back in my chair to wait on Francy closing the furnace.
The roof holding the three electrodes came to life as the wee man, using the joystick lifted It clear of the trellis. The roof, with the carbons shaking, swung in sedately and lowered onto the basin like a hand in blessing.
Francy turned to the control panel and like Frankenstein's Igor, he rammed the power on. The thick black cables bucked and swayed as the 60,000,000 volt-amperes of electricity gave life to the three carbon electrodes.
The metal inside the basin screamed as the power arced through it. The reverberations rattled the skylights and loosened the wig on Jimmy the metallurgist. The false teeth and fillings of most of the closers and moulders in the foundry took a fair rattling as well.
The furnace would clatter away like this for ten minutes before settling down to a dull hum. It would be a few hours before the metal would need to be worked. Plenty of preparation still had to be done, and the three-man crew kept themselves busy with this.
Up in the crane, I sat back in my comfy leather chair and began the crossword. While I was mulling over 7 up, my eyes rested again on Francy. He was standing at the anvil paring the metal and slag from one of the sampling spoons using a hammer and cold chisel.
His head jerked suddenly to his left. He dropped his shoulder and his neck lengthened pushing his head towards his prey. The wee man had ceased at that moment to be Francy the furnaceman, he had reverted to man the hunter.
Like a house-cat hunting in long grass, his eyes opened wide and his wee body stiffened. He placed the hammer carefully and deliberately on the flat face of the anvil. He crouched and became perfectly still. His eyes blazed as he took on the aspect of a stalking lioness.
I sat up in my chair and maneuvered the crane slowly towards the area. The wee man looked up towards me. With a grim and twisted face. He waved me to stop and back silently away. Reluctantly, I followed his instructions.
Francy snaked his lithe body around the anvil's wooden base, and like a shadow he slinked towards his target. On all fours, hand after hand, and knee after knee, the wee bugger stalked his prey.
He jumped up and threw himself in between two big ladles. A cloud of white lime dust puffed up into the air. Francy's feet scraped him forward, and he disappeared..
Two minutes later, he reappeared. He was smiling and looking intently into his cupped hands. I leaned forward and opened the front window of the cabin. With the noise from the furnace, I had to shout.
" Whit's that yi've goat in yir hauns there?,"
Francy looked up at the crane. He turned to the left, and while looking over his right shoulder, he shouted back at me.
''Nuhin, A've no goat oannythin in ma hauns. Fuck off ya nosey bastart."
''Cumoan ya wee shite. Yi've goat sumhin in yir hauns. Whit is it?"
Francy, kept his back to me and continued walking over to the furnace. Big Wullie the chargehand was hosing dust from the footplate.
Francy held his hands out towards him as he approached. Wullie looked into Francy's mitts. They spoke for a second, Wullie nodded then rolled the hose up and they both walked over to the control panel. Willie turned the water off and wrapped the hose round its hook. The two men walked back onto the footplate while looking into Francy's cupped hands.
Big Wullie had his arm around the wee man's shoulder; he was smiling and nodding as he pointed towards the two ladles where Francy had made his capture, of whatever the hells-fire he'd captured.
I shouted down...
''Whit's he goat in his hauns Wullie?,"
Wullie looked up. He held his open right hand to his ear and shouted.
''Eh? Whit?,"
I held my cupped hands in front of me and shouted.
''In his hauns. Whit's he goat in his fuckin hauns ya deef bastart?"
Wullie pointed one finger at the furnace and twirled the other at his ear.
''A cannae hear yie... The furnace."
He looked once more into Francy's hands before smiling up at me and waving both hands beside their appropriate ears. He took a piece of paper out of his breast pocket, flipped it open, and walked over to the additions bay to weigh out the mix.
What the bloody hell had that wee bugger caught beside those ladles? There were a lot of pigeons nesting in the gantries holding the overhead cranes. There were other birds, and many wee animals living about the foundry. What the hell had that wee shite caught?
Paw Broon came round the side of the furnace. Francy was still staring affectionately into his hands and he looked to be cooing and poking at whatever it was with one fingertip.
Paw walked over and he too was introduced to whatever the bliddy hell was in that wee shite's scabby wee claws.
The two men stood smiling at each other. Francy again pointed over at the place of capture. Paw nodded, slapped him on the back and headed into the Metallurgy lab. He returned seconds later with a saucer of milk.
The two buggers stood with their backs to me as they fed whatever was in Francy's hands.
" Whit did that wee shite huv in his hands? I really had to know and soon. I was losing the plot altogether. I couldn't leave the crane at this crucial moment. The furnace was likely to break a carbon or slip an electrode. I had to stay on stand-by for the time being. Wee Francy was holding my curiosity tighter than whatever was in his smelly, wee, secrety, birdcagy,wee moose hauns.
The furnace settled down to the dull drone I'd been desperate to hear. I took the crane along to the access ladder and slid quickly down. Francy was still on the footplate. Wullie and Paw were working behind him, cleaning the furnace breast. I stepped onto the plate.
''Right ya wee shite. Whit yie hidin in yir smelly wee hauns? Cumoan let's see."
Francy turned away and faced Willie and Paw. I grabbed his shoulder and tried to turn him around.
''Fuck aff, ya nosey bastart. A'm no littin yie see."
I pulled again at his overalls.
''Francy ya arsehole. Lit's see fur Goad sake. Whit is it?"
The wee man jerked his shoulder away from me again.
''Nuhin"
''Fur Goad's almighty sake Francy, stoap bein an arse, and lit's see whit yiv'e goat in yir hauns."
He turned round and spat.
''Naw."
''How no?,"
''Cause you sit up there in yir big fancy leather seat, inside yir wee gless cage, lookin doon oan aw us wee mice runnin aboot doon here. We're aw knoackin oor pans in tryin tae earn a livin, and you're up in yir goldfish bowl judgin aw us inferiors.
So, naw, yir no gittin tae see whit A've goat in,- as you say, ma smelly wee hauns. Ram that up yir leather chair comfy fat arse."
I was shocked. I had judged nobody. I got bored sometimes, and took a look around the foundry floor purely for amusement, but I never judged. I took a step back. i desperately wanted to know what he had in his hands. I used a lever.
''Fine ya wee shite. Stick whitever's in yir hauns where the sun disnae shine. A'm no wantin tae see it noo. An I'll tell yie better than that. ''
I pointed to a massive pinch-bar lying beside the footplate. It was five inches in circumference and seven feet long. It weighed eighty very heavy and hard to handle pounds. Francy had to use this bar to open the furnace tap-hole. To make it easy for him, I used to hold the bar for him using the small hoist on the crane and a piece of thick rope. This was not part of my job but I had been doing it to help him..
''See that bar there, yie can forget aboot shoutin on me tae lift it fur yie. A'll be too busy lookin aboot and judgin people. Yie can jist lift it yirsell.''
Francy stared at the bar; he lifted his hands and looked in between his fingers.
''Awright, yie can see whit A've goat here, but yi'll huvtae come in a wee bit closer; A'm no want it tae escape.''
Wullie and Paw came over to watch what was happening. I put my head down towards Francy's hands. They began to open. Wullie coughed. Francy closed his fingers.
''Schh'' said Francy
He began again to slowly to open his hands. I dropped my head even closer. The filthy fingers on Francy's hands parted. I gasped as a silvery stream of ice-cold water from the hose in his hands splashed all over my face and down the front of my overalls.
©Weefatfella.
Archived comments for Curiosity Mikeverdi on 28-08-2015 Curiosity Enjoyed the read, as I do all of your mad stories. It had to be something at the end like that, but despite that knowledge, I still (like him) needed to know HaHa! If you want critique, find someone else. π Mike Author's Reply:
Thanks mate. I appreciate you taking the time to drop by. Weefatfella. Rab on 28-08-2015 Curiosity I nearly saw it coming Jim! Did this happen where Morrisons now stands by any chance? Author's Reply:
Thanks, Rab. Good God man. You've surprised me there. I worked for North British Steel Group, at Armadale works. The new Morrisons store is on the site of the Bathgate plant. The company owned both foundries. the Menzies family ran the company as a family business for many years. The supermarket sits on Menzies Road named for the obvious. Aye! you sure surprised me there. Weefatfella. pommer on 30-08-2015 Curiosity Well Weefatfella,I really enjoyed the well written account of the furnace,and the suspense would not let me stop reading.I could see something like the end coming, but I would not have been able to guess.Be lucky,Peter. PS.I shall be watching the tattoo on the box tomorrow like always.I still remember Edinburgh from my POW days up there. Author's Reply:
Thank you for your supportive comments, Peter. I'm pleased you enjoyed my wee indulgence. Weefatfella. Popeye on 08-09-2015 Curiosity Even though we all know there will be a twist in the tale, the fascination is in finding out, enjoyed the read (served ya right for being nosey) π Author's Reply: Aye! A'm right nosey bugger me. Thanks for taking the te tae drop by Popey. I hope yir good self, Olive and Sweepee are well. Weefatfella. |
| The Light (posted on: 21-08-15) These wee pomes have been running about my head for some time. I felt I had to get them out. 
Did yie see that flashin light there,as it wheeched richt oan by?
A only goat a glimpse ae it,oot the coarner ae ma eye.
Wiz it the polis chasin a villain or the heidlights aff a plane?
A might be able tae tell yie,if it comes roond here again.
Aw look. Here it's back be-Goad.My it really is awffie bright.
It's flashin bright enough tae be a rocket or a low flyin sattelite.
It's mibbe a tiny comet that's burst through the atmosphere?
Or a shootin star ootae orbit that's fun its way doon here?
Wherever it goes,wherever it's been, it causes terrible conflagrations.
By takin the sicht fae drivers, and affectin their manipulations.
There's buses bangin intae buses, and taxis missin their fares.
There's flashers beein upstaged when they're showin aff their wares.
Sumthin hus tae be done aboot this pulsatin illumination.
Afore the strobes oan bicycles, urr the death ae half the nation.
©Weefatfella.Archived comments for The Light Mikeverdi on 21-08-2015 The Light Clearly they are putting something in the whiskey north of the wall. Maybe it's Cameron slipping a little something into the mix. Or maybe you should stop smoking that new brand you're on. HaHa! Mike Author's Reply: You're spot on Mike. It's me that's putting something in the whisky; more bloody whisky. Thanks for taking the time to read snd comment Mike. You know it's appreciated mate, Paul H. Weefatfella. Kipper on 22-08-2015 The Light Missed it all myself. "See it tomorrow night" I said. I mean three o'clock in the morning. Well now, that's a gap filled; thanks Paul. Michael. Author's Reply:
Thanks for dropping by Michael, Set your alarm for two, then you can't miss it. Mind yie.some can never see the light. Weefatfella. |
| A'm No Gaun. (posted on: 17-08-15) You don't have a choice. When the bell tolls. 
A'm no Gaun!
Whit the hell urr yie staunin there fur? ya durty wee parasite.
Wie yir heid inside yir hoodie, and yir boots aw covered in shite.
Can yie no see we're aw busy here, we've aw goat hings tae dae.
We're aw helpin oot an auld friend, tae take a wee rest the day.
Yir an awffie distractin wee bugger, wie they weird ootlandish claes.
How dae yie know ya wee bugger, when we're at the end ae oor days?
A'm share A can feel yie starin. Urr yie checkin yir wee black book?
Is it me? or him? or her? That's next. Gaun tell me, or geez a wee look.
''Don't wrap yir hauns around the rope, it'll burn when it's slippin through.
The digger's here huv a right guid grip, it's thame that's haudin him noo.''
Here, haud the bus, fur goodness sake, will yeez stoap fur jist a minute.
A see yeez lowerin doon a coffin here, but who's the bugger that's in it?
Here shuffle ower , move oot the road, A want tae read the man's name.
Aw naw! Aw hell! Aw whit's gaun oan? His name and mine urr the same.
That cannie be right. A'm staunin here, as bold and as large as bliddy life.
Goad, look at that wee bugger noo , he's goat a long and curvy big knife.
An whit's he starin at me fur ? and why's he crookin his knobbly finger?
Naw, A'm no gaun. A'm tellin yie. A'm stayin here. Don't say A cannie linger.
A wish yie wid huv let me know. Yie could huv phoned or sent a bliddy text.
A didnae know yie were cumin here, yi've goat me feart and awe perplexed.
Good God! Who urr aw they people there, sittin happily in yir cairt.
Aye, mibbe it's time A went wie yie. Mibbe it's time A played ma pairt.
A've jumped right intae the wagon, A'm happy , A've nae worries ataw
Fur A;m haudin the haun ae ma Faither , A'm cuddlin ma Mammie anaw.
Copyright©Weefatfella.
Archived comments for A'm No Gaun. Mikeverdi on 17-08-2015 Am No Gaun. Bugger, that raised a lump in my gullet at the end. Been a lot of that weird lingo from North of the Wall on the site recently HaHa! Mike Author's Reply:
Hi Mike. I'm bliddy shocked. I'm certain I got back to you on this. My Profound apologies Mate. Thank you very much for reading this drivell. Aye there hus bin a wee bit ae Northern banter flyin aboot UKA. That's only because aw yeez urr meetin in Bristol. and ma passport's run oot. Have a great time there Mike. I'm sure with yir wee self runnin the thing It'll be a good weekend. Awrrabest Weefatfella. Andrea on 17-08-2015 Am No Gaun. Ooooh, I wonder what gwirionedd will say?? Author's Reply: Hi boss, nice to hear from you again. Thanks for popping by. As for gwirioned....fit's thone loon daein jookin aboot here. Gang yir way ya wee numpty... Or words to that effect. Weefatfella. Andrea on 17-08-2015 Am No Gaun. Here's one of his, WFF, thought you might enjoy it π Dalriada Author's Reply: chant_z on 18-08-2015 Am No Gaun. Very refreshing lore to me. It's unusual here as far as I've seen. Liked it a lot! Witty in a way. Thanks! Author's Reply: Thank you very much for dropping by chant_z and for your supportive comments. They are appreciated. Weefatfella. pommer on 20-08-2015 Am No Gaun. Well, I really enjoyed reading this well constructed piece of poetry.I had no problem reading it in spite of the Scottish brogue.Having read a lot of Rabbie Burns made it easier.Thank you for sharing.Be lucky, Peter. Author's Reply:
Thank you very much, Peter, for taking the time to read this wee indulgence. I thank you very much for that, and for your supportive and kind comment. Please drop in again. Weefatfella |
| Mary's Naughty Pal. (posted on: 17-08-15) Jist a wee bit ae nonsense. 
Mary had a naughty pal, much naughtier than most.
She tried to make him nicer by feeding him buttered toast,
Oor Charlie was a rebel, a stubborn cheeky bugger.
He wouldn't take a tellin, from her or any other.
Mary tried persuasion, she twisted and she pleaded.
Charlie wouldn't budge at all, no matter how hard she kneaded.
Mary had a brainwave: An idea so persuasive.
Charlie, he would see the light and stop being so evasive.
A half loaf from the shop she bought and slammed it in the toaster.
When naughty Charlie takes a bite he'll think she is a stoater.
She slagered all with Lurpak and piled it on a plate.
Charlie faced with mother's pride prepared in such a state;
pulled his fingers from his drawers and sat right doon and ate.
A rather thick ootsider stopped him In his tracks,
When Charlie tried tae chew it, it squeaked and threw oot sparks
He spat it oan the table and looked it up and doon.
His eyes began to water, his brain spun roon and roon.
A long and slender cylinder, with a finger to keep it stable,
Was buzzing, twitching and writhing, on Mary's folding table.
Whit this thing wiz he couldnae tell, he'd never seen its like.
Is it part ae somebodies caur or van or even their motorbike?
Huz it drapped oot o an aeroplane or fae sumthin extraterrestrial?
Is it maybe somethin obselete or somethin very personal?
He stuck it doon his chinos where it jammed inside his pocket.
The thing began to tremble now, jist like a two bob rocket.
Charlie jumped up tae his feet furtae git a better purchase.
The thing wiz birlin roon and roon and showin oan the surface,
It shoved at Charlie's troozers and lifted up the fabric.
Then rolled aboot inside his breeks like somethin psychiatric.
Charlie shoved his haun inside tae pacify the beast,
jist as Mary sauntered in tae add mair tae the feast.
Her een were drawn tae Charlies crutch a birlin and a twirlin.
She smiled a leering smile and said, "Aw Charlie! You're ma darlin."Archived comments for Mary's Naughty Pal. Pronto on 18-08-2015 Marys Naughty Pal. Delightfully daft draught my friend. Wheel may ye're sporran spin! Author's Reply:
Aye!Thank you very much. When this rubbish gets inside my head I have to push it out. Thanks for reading P, And more importantly for commenting. Weefatfella. pommer on 20-08-2015 Marys Naughty Pal. I am glad you pushed this rubbish, as you call it, out.I enjoyed reading it. Well done Author's Reply:
Thank you very much indeed Peter. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Weefatfella. |
| The Spider Doors (posted on: 10-08-15) Another excerpt from the larger piece New Freedom...A working title Leathig has been delivered into the hands of Asmodene at his stronghold of Dihabal Pollag. ( Devil's Pit.) 
Into Diahbal.
Gnarled and twisted oaks cast shadowy grasping fingers over a heavily armed pack of trolls, as they trudged either side of a roughhewn cart.
The long narrow wagon, pulled by a skelatal mule, lurched noisily over the uneven scree littered ground.
Every bump rattled Leathig's chains. His head lifting and falling hard onto the rough planks of the cart floor, forced long painful groans from his bleeding mouth.
Sharp blades of sunlight, slipped between the ill-fitting slats, and painfully stabbed at his swollen eyes. His bruised frame rolled and bucked with every turn of the creaking wheels.
His staff was forced down the middle of his back. The long wooden shaft had been pushed into the chains and screwed like a tourniquet. Both ends of the chains were twisted tightly round his waist. The links had settled in between his ribs, every breath forced them painfully deeper.
Long angry slashes from the troll captain's whip, covered his back and sides. Dark, crusting scars seeped fresh blood and pus, which ran from his body into the dry planks of the cart, draining him of life and hope.
The mule brayed and stopped at the bottom of a small hill. The air thickened and held an obnoxious and musky odour. The trees, leafless, and twisted, looked tortured and in pain. A yellow, greenish mist oozed from small puddles of thick slime, which popped now and again as the gas forced its way through. To the right, a narrow pathway led uphill between granite boulders. Green matter covering the rocks, oozed slowly to the barren ground like vomit. Torrell raised his voice.
''Right, we're here. Leave the cart. The spawners will take that inside. They'll find a use for the wagon, and we may meet the mule again if the fuckers don't eat it.''
He looked around, before lifting his arm and crooking two clawed fingers at a tall, thin and bent troll wearing rusted and ill-fitting armour. The lethal looking double-bladed battle-axe the thin troll was carrying, fitted his huge fist perfectly however, and he looked comfortable with it. He nodded as he made his way over.
Torell leaned into the cart, grabbing leathig's ankles, he roughly dragged him out. As Leathig's head cleared the floor of the wagon. His flaccid body struck the ground hard. The priest moaned loudly as the pain surged through him.
The troll captain leaned over him and slapped him hard on the side of the head. Leathig's eyes opened, he stared unseeing into his tormentors face as tears rolled down his cheekbones and into his beard.
''Ha, Priest you're awake. Good... Hazall! Help me carry this reeking pile of shit into Diabhal, it's that, or I'll drag his sorry carcase down the two hundred steps using this pole."
As he spoke, he kicked the end of Leathig's staff with his thick skinned bare foot. The priest's eyes rolled, and he moaned loudly.
''Where am I?"
Red frothing spittle seeped from his lips.
"I don't think you'll make it into the master's dungeons alive human. That might not be a bad thing for you though."
Torrell lifted his eyes away from Leathig and called again.
"Hazall,"
''I'm here, dull your horns Torrell, I'm coming. Why is it down to us? Any of these runts could carry him.''
''He has to go to Asmodene."
As he mentioned the demon's name, fear filled his yellow eyes. He dropped his chin to his chest and slowly looked around as if he expected his master suddenly to appear.
''Only officers are allowed inside his quarter. Stop asking stupid questions and grab the other end of this fucking pole. It's bad enough having to live in Diabhal, but entering through the stinking arsehole of the place is as low as it fucking gets.''
Hazall swung the axe into its sheath on his back, and with the troll captain, he hoisted the pole carrying Leathig's emaciated and naked body onto his shoulders.
The priest moaned again as his wrists took his weight and his head fell back between his shoulder blades. A long thin line of blood stained mucus slowly seeped from his mouth and fell to the dirt. The trolls uncaring of Leathig's condition carried him along the narrow foul smelling pathway. The stink worsened the further along they went. The pools of sludge grew larger. The muck covered the ground, and the fog thickened.
The narrow pathway snaked in between the stinking boulders and led them to the mouth of a large cave. The entrance to which was sealed with two exquisitely worked and strong looking oak doors.
A carving of a huge spider stabbing a human female in the stomach with its stinger filled both doors.
The trolls stopped. One leant on the wood and ran his claw along the inside of the carving. He lifted the point of the claw to his mouth and sucked on it. Another sniffed and wiped his pointed nose on his sleeve, while the rest stood, watching.
Torrell, amazed, looked around him. In a low, rumbling, and menacing voice he droned.
''One of you shitbags better bang on those fucking doors soon, or I'll slice one of you from horn to heel, and we'll all have you for supper tonight."
He stared into their eyes before he shouted.
"That means fucking now!"
Three of the nearest trolls pounded on the door, one with his fist, the other two with the handles of their scimitars. The right-hand door began slowly to open inwards.
Hazall, coughed as he yelled,
"Fucking hell, I can't take much more of this reek. Push that door all the way. All of you push now! This stink is drawing my teeth out through my arse. Come On, hurry."
The door swung open. The sunshine pierced through the darkness and seared into the eyes of a huge caged, black spider. The spider screamed and shook violently. Leather cords were wrapped around the head and body of the huge insect, securing it tightly to the floor of a rusted, round, ribbed cage.
The cage swung as the spider jerked and strained against its bonds, desperately trying to free itself. A deep bellowing roar filled the cave.
''Close that door, before these spiders break loose and kill us all."
Cages holding huge spiders, hung from every part of the ceiling. As the daylight streamed into the cave, the insect's emitted high pitched screams as the light burned their sensitive eyes.
The cages swirled from side to side and banged into each other. One creature lifted its rear and fired a line of webbing which attached itself to the far wall. The spider pulled itself and the cage along the thread.
The huge troll lifted his halberd and sliced the thread. The arachnid screamed and fired another thread at the offending troll. The line stuck to the troll's leg. He fell; the spider reeled in the line.
The huge troll strained against the web. His clawed feet unable to grip the hard slippery cave surface, scraped along the floor towards the angry spider.
Hazall lowered Leathig and dashed towards the cage. He drew his battleaxe and swung at the gossamer line. His weapon bounced off the steel-like thread and slipped from his hands.
The spider, taking advantage, shot another length at Hazall. He lifted his arm in defence; the thread struck his arm, bounced off, and wrapped itself around his head. The spider drew in the line.
A cave troll drew a flaming torch from one of the many ensconced on the wall. He ran quickly to the cage of the spider and held it below. The insect screamed again and immediately cut the line. The troll withdrew the flame and drawing a long knife from the sheath on his belt, he cut the web.
The cave trolls had shut the door during the mayhem and the torches on the walls were the only illumination. The spiders settled back in their cages, the excitement was over.
Torrell's pack were standing just inside the doors, looking confused and afraid.
The captain lifted Hazall's axe and walked towards him. He offered the handle to his friend and pulled him to his feet.
"That was a near thing there my old friend. That's one bastard of a spider is it not?"
As he said this, Torrell drew his whip from the sheath on his hip and pointed at the offending insect. He uncoiled the cord and lashed the cage. The spider screamed again as the sharp slate embedded in the leather cords of the whip bit deep into the insect's back, green slime seeped from the wound.
''That she is Torrell, I expected the spawners here to be able handle their cluster,that bitch
nearly had the two of us.''
Hazall pointed to the big troll sitting on the floor cutting webbing from his arm. He stood and walked towards them. He was half again as tall as Hazall. They warily watched him approach.
''Put that whip away. If you lash any of my creatures again, I'll strip you naked and feed you to them myself."
Torrell measured the troll. His massive head was topped by a single horn which grew from just above his forehead. The sharp toothlike bone was at least eight inches round at the base and curved outwards to a point sixteen inches from his bald head.
His black eyes were shaded by a thick and hairy monobrow. A wide flat nose sat above an even wider mouth. Pointed teeth either side mimicked the horn on his head as they curled up six inches from his thick scowling lips. He held his long halberd ready in both hands. The flames from the torches on the wall ran along the sharp round blade and dripped off like blood..
Torrell cracked his whip towards the spider's cage. The troll stepped backwards as he swung his halberd in a low, wide arc. The blade bit deep into Torrell's abdomen. His bowels poured out of the slit and slopped, steaming, onto the cave floor. The troll captain fell to his knees, his head made a dull slurping sound as it landed among his steaming entrails, his body shook once and was still.
The huge troll, keeping his momentum, rolled towards Hazall. Hazall drew his battleaxe and struck where he thought the bigger troll would be. A dull ringing sounded as the half-moon blade struck the rock floor. The Big troll landed underneath Hazall as he had intended. He released a loud roar and utilising the huge muscles in his legs and back, he tossed his head like the Rhino he had been spawned from.
His sharp horn entered Hazall's groin and came out in the center of his back. The troll continued to rise. Hazall's dead body dripped blood and gore onto the troll's head and shoulders. The battleaxe fell from his dead hand and rattled bell-like on the stone floor.
The big troll still roaring, shook his massive head and shoulders. He grabbed Hazall's corpse. He pulled the corpse from his head and threw it spinning at the shaking troll party who stood terrified at the doors.
Weefatfella© all rights reserved.
Archived comments for The Spider Doors Mikeverdi on 10-08-2015 The Spider Doors Hello mate, I have a suggestion/critique, there are too many uses of the word 'Thin'. In the first six lines you have it Four times, at least twice it's not needed. Just saying. Its (as usual) only my opinion, and you can tell me to piss off π ps It is a great story though, and I would like to read more. Your Friend Mike Author's Reply: Cheers Mike, well spotted. I've obliterated it. with your help here mate I believe this piece has improved a great deal Thanks again. Yir wee fat pal; Weefatfella Mikeverdi on 11-08-2015 The Spider Doors Thanks for the confidence in my critique Paul. As I said, I liked it, and now I like it better HaHa! More please π Mike Author's Reply: Kipper on 27-08-2015 The Spider Doors Wow! Whatever else it's quite a read. I think perhaps I need a second go at it. Just one thing I would say, although I'm sure many will disagree, is that the use of the F expletive was somewhat overdone. Sometimes less is more. Perhaps this time. Your depiction of the troll world is very graphic which fans of this genre will appreciate. Not quite my cup of tea Paul, but that is me not you, though still I say WOW Michael Author's Reply:
Michael, Thank you for your 100% spot on critique. I was attempting to use the expletives as a tool to help make the trolls obnoxious. You are right, on re-reading and subsequently editing. I find the piece much improved. Thanks again Michael. Weefatfella. |
| Ayr at the fair (posted on: 31-07-15) Memories of the beach at Ayr, are embedded deep in every child born west of Shotts. East of Shotts; it's Portobello. 
Ayr at the fair.
A day aff work, a day to play.
A day fur goin doon the motorway.
A day fur weans and digging sand.
A day furtae haud a grandweans hand.
..................................
A day fur soacks aff doon the water.
A day furtae hear yir auld wifes patter.
A day furtae paddle alang the shore.
A day fur laughter, and so much more.
.....................................
A day fur names, scraped wie a stick.
A day fur ice cream cones tae lick.
A day fur stanes turned ower fur a look.
A day fur crabs wie wee sherp hooks.
......................................
A day fur slippery rocks in streams.
A day fur laughter, shouts and screams.
A day fur chips, wie loads ae salt.
A day fur beer and maybe a malt.
.....................................
A day fur sandwiches oan a shawl.
A day fur rounders wie a wee hard ball.
A day fur shooglin weans in buggies.
A day fur shakin sand fae nappies.
...................................
A day fur seagulls stealin sannies.
A day fur makin pacts wie grannies.
A day fur tears and petted lips.
A day fur misty cargo ships.
........................
A day fur cloaks tae batter roon.
A night furra bright and sparkling moon.
A day fur weans burnt oot wie pleasure.
A day fur yin and all tae treasure.
Weefatfella © all rights reserved Weefatfella publications.
Archived comments for Ayr at the fair dylan on 01-08-2015 Ayr at the fair Hi, mon ami. Like most Weegies, the Ayrshire coast is imbedded in my psyche-(think that`s what it is!) This brings back memories-especially day-trips on Fair Monday, which almost inevitably, ended up in Ayr. Jan and I still go down regularly-there`s a nice wee pub called The Wellington in (ahem) Wellington Square just off the sea front. (I ended up busking at the front earlier this year. Nuff said!) Anyhoo, nice rhythmn and evocative imagery. Orrabest, D. Author's Reply: Cheers D, I believe this piece can be best appreciated by,as you say Weegies,and their close cousins from the Shire. Thank you for reading and more importantly commenting. Thank you for dropping by. sweetwater on 01-08-2015 Ayr at the fair Well I managed to decipher the foreign language enough to have a very enjoyable and memory filled read. Have never been anywhere near Ayr, but seasides' are magical anywhere when you are young. Loved every line π Sue. Author's Reply: Thank you very much for reading Sue, and for your encouraging comments. I think your right about the 'Seaside' it is a magical place. Weefatfella. pommer on 02-08-2015 Ayr at the fair Lovely to see you back Weefatfella,and once again in your amusing style. Never been to Ayr, spent my time as a prisoner of war near "Old Reeky" .You prompted me to look up Ayr, and to admire that fantastic beach. I have always loved the sea, having been born at the Baltic many years ago.I enjoyed reading your piece, Be lucky, Peter. Author's Reply: 
Thank you very much for your comments Peter, I'm pleased you enjoyed it. I hope you were well treated by the Edinburgh folk, they can be a wee bit strange. Weefatfella. |
| Waifs and Stragglers. (posted on: 29-05-15) Working in the wee sma hours in a taxi can be stressful. Working in the early morning when the drunks have nearly recovered is hilarious. 
Waifs and Stragglers
The orange LED showed four thirty seven am. I pulled the quilt over my head and tried to steal another ten minutes kip. I always stay back a bit on Saturday mornings: Going out in the taxi before six, can get you involved with the hooded waifs and stragglers who skulk about in those wee misty hours.
Taking great care not to waken The Sweetness, I threw the quilt back and hung my legs over the bedside.
Half an hour later, I pressed the pad to accept my first job of the shift.
From 34 Bellend place Livingston.
To 98 Broomshaft Entry,
Auld Reekie.
NB:£30.00 Casheroonie!
It looked a good fare, but at this hour, 05-40 am the chances are it will be one of those arsewipes. One of those wallopers wearing a baseball cap with a hoodie pulled over the top... It's a certainty!
Odds on It'll be one of those friends of the magician Dynamo; he's taught all of his wee pals how to have their jeans hanging down level with the back of their knees, even with full pockets they don't fall any further. I'm always tempted to shout.
''Hey you ya fanny, pull yir drawers up, let's see yir soax."
I carried on to the address. As I turned into the street I pressed the pad to initiate the 'ringback' informing the wahoo I was on approach. On hearing this, the belter would drop everything, and after pulling on his jacket, he would be standing at the kerb with the full fare presented at arm's length for my perusal
Aye right!
A flash of sun bounced off the windows on the door of number 34. Another flash bounced of the guy's baldy heid as he stepped out. He was thin- faced and had one of those dyed goatee beards. A long, strong looking beak, with huge nostrils, filled the gap in between his, in my opinion, too close together eyes.
He was wearing a blue shell suit and what looked like baseball boots. (They call them Converts now apparently. Bloody baseball boots as far as I can see.)
Still.
I checked the guy out. He appeared fairly sober. He was texting on his phone as he walked and seemed to be dealing with the multi-tasking pretty well.
The buzzer sounded as he stepped into the cab. I flicked the meter off and while looking through the rear view mirror and the bandit screen I said.
''Awright mate? Edinburgh is it?"
He grudgingly lifted his face from his phone and grunted while nodding.
I should have asked for the money up front. I thought.
''Eh, nae disrespect big man, but it's company policy; A huvtae ask fur the fare afore we go... As A said, it's company policy."
He would probably have gone mental, I had the address of the house, and after all he looked sober. Better to wait till we get to Edinburgh. It would make for a quieter journey.
I secretly plotted the address into my muted sat-nav, and followed its instruction towards Edinburgh. I like to pretend I know where I'm going in the city. It's all part of the show no weakness thing.
I checked on the bugger a few times on the M8. He was bent over looking at his mobile. He had a smile on his wee face and his thumbs were going as fast as a hitchhiker's at Silverstone.
On the way I'm still thinking;
'I should've got the fare before we left. He'll be texting one of his pals to come out when I stop.'
(In the black cab, if the driver keeps his foot on the brake pedal, the doors are locked from the inside. However, they can still be opened from the outside. A safety measure obviously.)
Oh, wait a minute, I've sussed it now. The guy's gonna sit up and say,
" Eh, could yie stoap at a hole in the waw driver? A huvtae go tae the cashline tae git the money fur yie...Eh! If yie don't mind mate."
I stop, the fanny gets oot,and he's oot the traps like a whippet after the rabbit.
I should've got the money before we left.
On the Calder road, I looked back at my fare. He was still on the phone, his fingers were a blur on the keypad and he was still smiling.
Following the sat-nav,I turned left and down the hill towards Broomhall. A right turn took me over a narrow bridge. Serena on the sat- nav quietly advised me I had reached my destination.
The numpty in the back was getting very fidgety and animated. The phone was in his pocket now. He slipped off his seatbelt. As he began to stand he deftly flicked his wallet open and removed two twenties from a larger sandwich. As he pushed the notes through the pay point I noticed for the first time; his heavily lacquered fingernails.
"Thankth very much driver. That with a nithe quiet run through there. A hate chatty cabbieth. A fell oot wie ma boyfriend jitht afore A came oot tae yir wee taxi."
As he said this, he covered his lipsticked mouth with his open fingers and batted away an imaginary fly as he continued.
"Yie know whit? Wie you beein thae conthiderate and quiet. A've hud a great wee textie makin up wie him, and everythin'th fine noo. A know the prithe ith thurty pound'th.''
He swatted yet another interfering insect.
''But there'th forty... Keep the chinge driver."
He flapped again with his deadly fingernails as he opened the door. Before disappearing altogether, he raised his expensively manicured hand and screamed...
" Laterth!"
I thought;
'It's a good job I didn't ask for the fare before we left.'
Copyright©Weefatfella.
Archived comments for Waifs and Stragglers. Mikeverdi on 29-05-2015 Waifs and Stragglers. Oh it's good to read your manic writing again, 'Tales from the Taxi'..love them HaHa! Mike Author's Reply: Thanks very much Mike. I'm pleased you had a larf! Weefatfella. pommer on 29-05-2015 Waifs and Stragglers. Hi Mate, I really enjoyed this one.Like the style in which it is written.Peter. Author's Reply: Hi! Peter, thank you for popping round, and for your supportive comment. Please call again. Again. Weefatfella. deadpoet on 31-05-2015 Waifs and Stragglers. Hi do you always write in Scottish? I liked reading it- and could understand almost every word luckily. Good cabby story. My Dad was a cabby way back in the 50's-60's in Sydney Australia. I used to nick a penny or two from his small change bag when it hung in the closet. He never mentioned it. Thanks for a bit of fun and suspense. Very good. Pia xx Author's Reply: Hi Pia, Thank you very much for your kind comments. My daughters used to pinch a shilling or three from my float on occasion. Like your Dad I say nothing. It's why its there. Weefatfella. |
| Quillibet (posted on: 15-05-15) From New Freedom An explanation for the seven year old boy sitting on the throne in 'Asmodene' the previous excerpt. 
Quillibet.
He couldn't remember when he became aware, suddenly he was. Where he found himself was newly awakened. It was chaotic. All things were in turmoil.
Energies were in constant conflict with one another. Light flashed, and was gone, swallowed by nothingness. The nothingness ate everything, and then spat it all out, and gorged again.
Light returned, dim at first, then brighter and beautifully so. The light spun, faster and faster it went. Small particles merged with the light. These attracted more pieces of matter, which spun faster and faster.
They spun so quickly; they flew off and spun on their own. This process continued, everywhere
Once, all was dark. Now there was light among the darkness.
''Quillibet."
"Quillibet."
He knew of this voice, It wasn't sound. He knew of something touching his consciousness. It filled his whole being.
''I know you are there. Answer me.''
He didn't know how to answer. He had never come upon another entity before. He had never communicated before.
''Don't be afraid Quillibet, I am your creator." When I made this universe and the laws that govern it, you also came to be. You are the balance in my universe. You are the fulcrum, the balancing force between good and evil. You Quillibet maintain the equilibrium.''
He couldn't reply. He had no form, no substance. The only substance or form he had any experience of was light... He became light.
Now he had substance and was no longer just consciousness, the cosmos embraced him. All was revealed, information and knowledge came flooding to him. There was no holding it back. His self was becoming part of this universe. Nothing was hidden from him. He was becoming knowledge itself, he was losing the consciousness he had so recently become.
He knew fear. The fear of losing himself in this mass of information. He resisted. He found a power in himself. An ability to manipulate the form he had become. He knew all things and could become all things. He became Quillibet.
''I am here."
"I hear you.''
''Why are we here?"
''We are here to create and maintain order. Chaos is turmoil. Chaos is anathema.''
That was eons ago, Quillibet along with the creator, had ordered the cosmos. The violent energies had calmed and settled. The laws they had set in place kept the balance... All was at peace.
The creator had made his 'paradise'. He had populated it with beings he had created he said, in his own likeness. All was well,- until his creations rebelled.
Quillibet looked on as Asmodene walked through the door. Lucifer would begin again, his campaign to gain the souls of the Hebrews.
The creator would set his mind against him; Quillibet would strive to maintain the balance
Copyright©Weefatfella.
Archived comments for Quillibet Mikeverdi on 15-05-2015 Quillibet Beautifully weird, and so you. Great stuff mate, fits the last posting like a glove. Mike Author's Reply: You know what Mike? The truth will out, and you have just outed it. Thank you for your honesty mate! Weefatfella. Rab on 18-05-2015 Quillibet And there is more! Mike's just said it all, and I agree entirely. Ross Author's Reply: I'd rather be a wee bit different. If that's weird, then so be it. Thank you for taking the time to pop in mate. Weefatfella. deadpoet on 11-06-2015 Quillibet The very birth and the Creator- this is very good and I agree with the others- a beautiful and expressive follow up to Asmodene. Quite a powerful birth of Quillibet- masterly penned- seems like your imagination is flying and flowing.. brilliant WFF- keep writing- Author's Reply: Thanks again Pia. What can a soldier do when asked to charge when out of breath? (Publius Flavius Vegetius Renatus) |
| Asmodene (posted on: 11-05-15) A continuation of "New freedom" a working title. Asmodene. God has broken his pact with the devil. His intervention by using Leathig,and by setting the ten plagues on the Egyptians has allowed Lucifer to retaliate. The battle begins for the souls of the Hebrews. Asmodene, his most powerful demon, has been summoned to lead the fight. 
Asmodene.
Thunder filled the cavern. The walls and floor of the huge cave shook with the unceasing onslaught. Foaming and swirling water punched and pulled its way between and over the boulders guarding the two hundred foot drop. Once free, it roared in triumph, before dashing itself to pieces on the rocks below.
The resulting spray exploded against the walls and ran down like blood in the amber light of the oil lamps suspended from the roof on long rusting chains. The yellow, swirling and billowing mist, created claws which grasped impotently at the cold air.
Asmodene, his long hair and cape rising in the updraught, chose his steps carefully on the slippery uneven surface as he moved towards the thin, algae covered span of rock which served as a bridge across the vapour filled gorge.
The mist thickened as he approached. Memories filled his head of the contorted faces and deathly screams of trolls and humans, begging in vain for mercy, before being thrown to add their bones to the pile being stirred at the bottom of the foaming and thrashing lagoon, one hundred feet below.
He waved a spell at the huge animal headed oil lamp hanging above the bridge.
"Fiat lux,"
It burst into life. Writhing amber flames, tinged with black smoke, sent guilty, furtive shadows scurrying across the walls. Holding his breath, he placed his right foot on the bridge. The slippery surface withdrew. He breathed an incantation,
"Tenere!"
The bridge solidified. He crossed slowly but confidently to the other side.
A shimmering ward, with inverted triangles, the sigil of Lucifer, barred his way, again he called on his power to undo the spell.
''Fϊgite potestatem habeo Asmodene."
The veil-like barrier dissolved. A long, flaming, torch lit corridor invited him forward. He entered. The thunder from the cave outside instantly stopped. His echoing footsteps and his heavy breathing were the only sounds.
The torches became fewer as he continued down the long corridor. The air thickened in the darkness. He stopped. Holding his breath, he listened. Silence, not an everyday silence, there was a complete absence of sound. He breathed out. The long exhalation was smothered entirely. He clapped his hands. A dull, stifled, and sponge-like echo of the slap was all he could hear. This, he knew, would intensify the further along the path he walked. He tried a spell.
"Discutere tenebras."
The air grew warmer, and what small light there was, withdrew. Asmodene inwardly sighed. He leaned against the wall to gather his resolve before continuing along the ever narrowing pathway.
The atmosphere continued to wrap itself around him. The intimidating silence reminded him of the void. He'd been banished there by Lucifer. He'd committed no offence. Lucifer needed to condition him. To prepare him, he said, for service.
The memory of that awful experience haunted him still... A place of nothingness, a place filled with interminable fear. A place with no sense of time, a horror inducing, mind altering and terror filled existence. A place with no stimulus. He had only his self-created nightmares, and they tormented him ceaselessly.
Being immortal, the horrifying thought of spending eternity in that state, terrified him absolutely.
Now in pitch black, Asmodene, with his arms outstretched, and his senses alert, felt his way like a lowly worm through the shadows.
His mood lightened when a finger of air brushed his cheek. He stopped. There was light ahead, a small flicker of hope. He quickened his pace.
Three large torches framed an archway standing sentinel before a steeply descending staircase. An inscription flickered in the shadows in the centre of the arch.
Asmodene leaned his head back and read.
"Qui huc intrasti omissa spe."
Steeling himself, he crossed beneath the archway and fearfully headed down the stairs.
With each downward step his mood lifted. A fresh cleansing breeze cooled the air, and white globes on tall slender poles dispersed the darkness.
He reached the bottom where a vast, light filled amphitheatre spread out before him.
A large silver pentagram covered the floor, in the centre of which, were steps facing the four points of the compass. The stairs rose to a long narrow throne, where golden angel wings rose high above, as though the throne were about to fly off.
An animated and vividly coloured painting surrounded the walls. Grim faced, armoured angels, wielding fiery swords flew and fought each other on a smoking wasteland.
On the ceiling above the throne, Lucifer and Michael the Archangel, were engaged in deadly combat. Their eyes flashed and their armour blazed as they soared high and swooped low, each seeking to gain an advantage. Their raging weapons sliced and parried as they flew. Their powerful wings punched them through a dark sky where black, rolling clouds, threw lightning in all directions.
Cross-legged on the throne, with his chin resting on his clenched hands, sat a seven year old human boy.
Asmodene, startled, sent a strong binding spell.
"Extimui sensique!"
He expected to see the boy scream in agony as the bonds of air pulled at his tendons and sinews. Normally the victim's back would arch unnaturally, and the mouth would bleed and salivate as the muscles of the jaw contracted, pulling the teeth up into the tongue. Sometimes, his victims bit right through, and the bloody wet flesh would fall onto the torso.
The boy ignored it.
''I'm pleased you made it through your trial Asmodene. Lucifer wouldn't have been kind to you. He likes to remind his underlings of his mastery."
" Who are you? How do you know my name?"
" I know everyone's name. As to whom I might be, shall be explained in time. For now I'm a friend. I may be an ally. Now you must go."
His finger pointed to the large ornate door to his right.
"Your master grows impatient."
Asmodene turned to look at the door. When he looked back at the throne.
The boy had gone.
Copyright©Weefatfella.
Archived comments for Asmodene Andrea on 11-05-2015 Asmodene How brilliant to see you back, WFF! We've missed you. Hope you're all well π Author's Reply: Thanks Andrea. I gave up on the illuminated manuscript. I kept making mistakes. My drawing in my opinion, improved,but my punctuation has remained suspect. I hope all you lot are still maintaining robust and extremly rude health. Thank you again for the lovely welcome back. Weefatfella. stormwolf on 12-05-2015 Asmodene Just great to see you back WFF!;-))) This is a more serious style for you but just incredible writing IMHO. Alison x Author's Reply: Thank you very much indeed Alison for your heartlifting comments. I was feeling a wee bit petulant there. My bottom lip wiz stickin oot like a vanity sink. You've brought me back to my senses. I'll sharpen ma pinsul and hopefully ma wits alang wie it and git the heid doon and the erse up and continue with what I started. Again Alison thanks a million. X Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 12-05-2015 Asmodene HaHaHa! You piss off to do some scribbling with a fancy pen for a few months, then come back to show how it'd all done again. I hate kids like you! Welcome back you little fat bugger, great story π Mike Author's Reply: Mike, ya bugger yie. It's great to be the subject of your sharp tongue again. I love it. I'm hoping to make the aquaintance again of our mutual friend Webber. Holy shiny stuff but you've been busy. Lookong forward to hearing from all you reprobates again. Weefatfella! pommer on 13-05-2015 Asmodene Hi Weefatfella,great to see you back and in form.A well written story.It is not the sort of story I would normally read, but I could not resist this one,as it was so well written. Be lucky, Peter. Author's Reply: Cheers Peter. Thanks for your kind comments. Weefatfella. Rab on 18-05-2015 Asmodene Great to see you back weefatfella, we've missed you. A strong one to come back with too, filled with mysticism. I look forward to more! Ross Author's Reply: It's an ongoing project Rab. I've a fair idea where it's going. I'll just follow along. Thanks again Rab. Weefatfella. deadpoet on 10-06-2015 Asmodene I saw this up last month and didn't think I could get into it! How wrong I was! It's marvellous WFF! Thanks for an exciting read. Is there more somewhere? I hope so! Author's Reply: What an amazingly supportive comment Pia. Thank you very much indeed. This has inspired me to take up the quill and wrestle once more with this dream of mine. In answer to your question. I'm hoping to extend 'New Freedom' into a series of novels on the history of the Scots as i see it. All very grand and self indulgent I know, but we all have dreams. Once again Pia, thank you. |
| Where To Sir? (posted on: 21-07-14) The people I meet as a taxi driver never ceases to amaze me. In this job I can be taken from the mundane to the fantastic, in the same hour. here is a small example. I have illustrated this piece to the best of my ability. I hope you at UKA will enjoy it. Paul H Weefatfella. 
Where to sir?
The low spring sun flashed off the roof of the train as it drew into the station. The loud bleeping signaled the doors opening and the commuters washed onto the platform. With a hand on both handlebars and an '' Excuse me.'' Here and there. She forced her self and her folding bicycle through the weaving punters.
A space opened in front of her and she bob-sleighed her way into it.
With a practiced skip and a hop, she threw her leg over the bike. Her foot caught the top pedal and as her weight pushed down, the bike surged forward. The pleats of her kilt splayed widely as she swung her leg over the seat. She sat down purposefully with a straight and determined back, and with her practically perfect hat on her head, she cycled confidently past the taxi rank.
Just as she rounded the bend and headed downhill, the front wheel folded itself along the frame and the bike collapsed. She rolled over the bars, flashed her jolly hockey sticks navy blue serge knickers, and landed on her back in an untidy wide-eyed, this can't be happening heap. Her hat stayed on her head, just as it should.
Ben, at the front of the rank, ran out quickly to help her. He was joined by more 'Samaritans' and they quickly got her to her feet. He lifted the bike and checked it over. After realigning the front wheel and making sure it was all locked properly in place, he wheeled it over to the lady who, with an embarrassed smile on her aristocratic face, was making awkward apologies to her helpers.
'' Say I. Urr yie awright hen?''
'' Yes thank you
I
just took a bit of a tumble. It's a folding bicycle. I couldn't have locked it in place properly
Is it damaged? ''
''It disnae look as if it is hen, but, say I, you'll ken better than me.''
She accepted her property and after a swift examination and a smile of thanks to her attendants, she rolled the bike forward and again expertly mounted the machine. Half way down the hill she raised her right hand to her head, lifted her hat, and gave a practically perfect wave, as she sped off down the hill.
The world went back to order and the door open buzzer on the taxi warned me of a fare entering the cab. A dark haired guy of around forty, carrying a small case and a smile to match the sunshine, greeted me in a smooth American accent.
'' Good morning sir, could you take me to Sky at Watermark House... in Kirkton?''
'' Aye, good morning to you too sir.. I certainly can
Is that an American accent I hear?''
''Yes sir. I'm from San Diego, in sunny California.''
'' Did you bring the Californian sunshine with you?''
'' Yeah, I sure did.''
I flicked the meter on and rolled the cab off the rank.
''Aye, it's a beautiful day, but not a day to be working is it? It's a pity we all have to work.''
''Yes sir, it sure is. We gotta pay the bills. That's for sure.''
The guy sat down, and when he was settled, I asked him.
''When you got in the cab you asked me to take you to Kirkton. Suppose I could take you anywhere. Anywhere in space and time you wanted to go. Where would you have asked me to take you?''
His eyes glazed over as he began to think. A second later he sat forward. While staring into my eyes through the rear view mirror, he said.
'' That's easy. 21st of June 2009. In San Diego bay. Aboard the Maria, a 53ft sport-fishing boat. My father-in-law Frank was steering and my wife and childhood sweetheart Maria, whom the boat was named for, was sunbathing on the second stage fishing platform. I was aft in the 'fighting' chair.
My son Mark had just pulled me a coke. I cast in between the four boat lures and set the rod in its holder. After taking the coke, I threw it back. Just as the welcome drink hit the back of my throat, the rear of the boat dipped in the water. The engines whined in complaint as some powerful force was pulling on them. I looked at the rod, it was shivering along its length and was bent nearly to the water. If this was a marlin, it was huge.
Mark, always willing to learn, ran to the fly-bridge to see how his experienced grandfather would handle the boat with a hooked fish trying to pull it to the bottom of the sea.
I flicked the rod's reel to automatic. This way, if the line went slack, the reel would tighten, if too much force was exerted, the reel would slowly release.
I felt my wife's hand along the top of my neck. She kissed my cheek and whispered excitedly into my ear.
'I saw the shadow as I climbed down James... It's massive.'
I looked towards the sea. A long sharp pointed sword was slowly piercing up through the foaming water. The noise of the screaming reel burned in my ears. The frothing and rolling surface of the sea was impossibly rising and shaping itself. As the water fell away, it revealed a shining white torso with huge flapping fins. The behemoth continued to rise slowly from the surface. A wide black tail cleared the water.The sun was blotted out as the huge black marlin towered above us. When it reached the apex. It lowered it's head. The long sharp sword of the beast moved slowly and threateningly from side to side. I followed from the point up to a black, round and hypnotic eye.
The world stopped as the eye held me. I could sense cold dark places fathoms below the surface. A fearful darkness came over me and all was silent. I felt myself shiver as visions of the cold dark ocean spun in my head. The thrill of darting into massive schools of fish as they swirled around just below the surface of the sea. Memories of chasing darting, flashing, silver underbelly's. Of bursting through a clear blue light and the exhilarating feeling of weightlessness as I fell back to the water. Then a sharp pain and something very powerful pulling me forward.
All the old drunken marina bar tales filled my head. Stories of huge evil black marlin, rising out of the water to fall down on boats and smash them to matchwood. Urban myths telling of these huge fish, diving into the sides of boats and skewering unfortunate men through the chest with their swords. Some even pulling men, chairs and all, down to their deaths under the deep, dark sea. I sat transfixed. The marlin flicked his tail and gallons of cold seawater slapped into me and my wife, bringing us both to our senses. With a loud splash,the marlin disappeared beneath the surface.
The boat's engines roared and the stern lifted. Maria, pointing to the reel, shouted.
'Grab the handles. We'll do this together.'
I flicked the switch to give us manual control, and with Maria's arms around me and with her shouting advice into my ear, we fought the beast.
The marlin battled long and hard. Old Frank steered the boat expertly and after three hours hard slogging, we landed the fish. We headed for port exhilarated and desperate to show off our massive prize at the Sun Harbor Marina.
The fish was 22ft long and weighed in at an amazing 1,765lbs. It was the biggest black marlin ever caught in the bay. The Maria was awarded the shield for best catch and we didn't have to buy drinks for weeks.
Yes sir that was one of the greatest days of my life. Sadly, a year later, my father-in-law passed away with cancer. Two years later my wife and son were killed in a road traffic accident on the freeway just outside San Diego.''
He sighed and sat back in the seat. We continued in silence to Watermark. I stopped the cab and the guy opened the door and got out. He came to the passenger window. After paying his fare, he said.
'' You know sir, I really wish you could have taken me there.''
I looked him in the eye and said
.
'' Sir.. I just have.''
Copyright©Weefatfella.
Archived comments for Where To Sir? jay12 on 05-11-2014 Where To Sir? This is a very sad story indeed. But I know how he feels. I'd go back to the year 2000. Everything was much better then. I've seen far too much loss over the past 14 years and would give anything for just one weekend back at the turn of the century. Nice work man! Author's Reply: 
Hi Jay, sorry I've taken so long to reply to your comment. Aye,It's always nice to peer back to the past and the seemingly better times. I think we all have a place in time we like to reflect on. I'm pleased you enjoyed the tale. ( It's nearly true). Weefatfella. |
| A Miracle at Midnight. (posted on: 02-12-13) A rewrite for Christmas. 
A Miracle At Midnight.
The two men, breathed heavily as they crouched behind the snow-covered headstones.
Keeping low to avoid anyone who may be looking out the church windows, they trudged slowly through the deep snow toward the old Kirk. The full moon, normally their friend, took every opportunity to betray them. Their warm breath, flowing upward was changed into bright silver clouds by the moons revealing glow. The stained glass windows, designed to work with light coming in, now reversed that role and shone brightly from the church, illuminating the perimeter and making a kaleidoscopic path around the Church.
The bells chimed loudly. Charlie, following his partner Wullie, jumped with the first peel.
"Cumoan Wullie, we'll hae tae hurry, run man."
" How can A run carrying all this?"
Wullie had a large sack slung over his shoulder and he was trailing another along the ground, which left wide swaying tracks in the snow behind him.
" The doors'll be locked, we'll never git in withoot bein seen noo,"
"It's okay Charlie, A've got the key tae the side door
Anyway, it's only eleven o
clock, not midnight, we've plenty of time yit."
They sat in the snow with their backs against a gravestone. Charlie opened his tobacco tin and handed Wullie a very thin roll-up. He flicked his Zippo. Covering the flame with his free hand he lit his own before handing the lighter to Wullie.
" Dae yie think this is a good idea Wullie? A mean, we're no exactly seen as proper upstanding members ae the community, are we?"
"Naw yir right Charlie mate, but sometimes yi've gote tae dae whit yir conscience tells yie tae dae, and A feel this is the right thing we're daein the night. As long as we don't git caught. If we git caught, well, we'll jist haud oor haunds up, and take whit's cummin tae us."
They stubbed their fags out, lifted their sacks, and began again the hard slog through the deep snow. Like two strange and misshapen locomotives, the two men puffed their way through the churchyard. They turned the corner and searched for the small gateway leading down to the side door. The gate opened easily and after looking furtively behind them, they slouched down the snow covered slippery steps to the archway hiding the iron studded door.
The sounds of the old organ panting and the congregation's out of tune accompaniment could be heard clearly from inside the church . Wullie dug in his pocket and produced the key, he slipped it into the keyhole. The old lock soundlessly turned. He twisted the rusted ring, and pushed the door. The ancient hinges screamed and the bottom of the door lined with iron, scraped noisily along the uneven flagstones.
" Fur Goad sake Wullie, it's a guid joab we urnae here tae steal oannything, we widnae git far wi aw the noise you're makin"
"Aye well, don't you git oanny ideas ae revertin back tae yir auld ways, were here fur sumthin else awthegither."
He searched with his hand along the wall, feeling for a light switch, he found and used it. A line of bare, cobweb covered light bulbs shone along the long low ceiling illuminating the flag stoned floor and creating strange, deep shadows on the uneven and undressed sandstone walls of the long narrow passageway.
" Creepy intit"
" shut up Charlie, fur Goads sake, A've enough tae worry aboot, withoot you tryin tae git me feart."
The two men walked fearlessly along the corridor until they came to another iron studded door. Carved on the arch and guarded by an ugly winged and horned demon, were the words ' Abandon all hope ye who enter here.'
Wullie used the key. The stiff lock resisted, but after a few jiggles, a satisfactory click was followed by another. Wullie pushed the door, it wouldn't open.
'' Cumoan man, open the door it's freezing staunin here.''
'' A'm tryin, A think there's sumhin ahint the door stoapin it. Haud oan.''
Wullie put his shoulder to the heavy door and forced his weight against it. It creaked open a couple of inches. He grunted, held his breath and forced again. The door, inch by complaining inch scraped open. The two men picked up their sacks and stepped into the darkness.
'' Charlie, look fur the light switch oan the wall there. ''
There was a soft click as Charlie flicked the switch.
The old aubergine shaped bulb buzzed as it began to illuminate. A soft orange glow limped along the filament. Just as it was thinking of glowing yellow, it sat down and decided not to bother.
They began to feel their way through the gloom. The fusty odour of old habits and candle wax, mixed with the smell of spilled wine and reputations, seeped out of the darkness.
Demons and witches hiding below sheets, stuck their toenails and brooms out to trip them up. Mischievous Imps ran giggling from cover to cover exposing themselves just enough to be glimpsed. Cherubs peeking out from half covered paintings, blew cold air down the men's exposed necks as they passed.
'' Wullie
Wullie.''
'' Whit?... Whit's wrang wie yie noo?''
'' Nuhin. It's jist awffie dark in here. It's giving me the heebie jeebies. A can see things movin, and A can feel, cauld haunds wie, long spindly fingers reaching oot fur me.''
'' A'll reach ma cauld haunds and ma long spindly fingers oot fur yie the noo if yie don't stoap yir bliddy whingine... Haud oan tae the tail ae ma jacket, we're nearly at the other side.''
Charlie grabbed Wullie's jacket and comforted, he carried on.
'' Aye A thought sae. The place has been rewired, there's two brand new switches here.''
Wullie turned the lights on, after a couple of bright flashes the fluorescent lighting dispelled the darkness, revealing the old crypt. The floor was cluttered with boxes of discarded sports equipment, old oil paintings, candlesticks and stacks of old wooden chairs draped loosely with dust covers. Next to the switches was a brand new spiral staircase leading up to a trap door.
Wullie dragged his sacks up the staircase and opened one flap of the door.
He stood on his tiptoes and popped his head in. Old reverend Murdoch's deep bass voice, boomed in his ear. Quickly, he ducked back down.
'' Fur Goad sake A thought auld Murdoch wiz standin right beside me there. A nearly Blancoed ma underwear.''
'' Aye yie wid Wullie. This trapdoor is right next tae the pulpit. You're no feart ae oanythin eh! Git back up there ya big fearty and dae whit we came here fur.''
'' Aye okay smartarse, A'm gaun.''
He climbed up and slowly opened one flap. He peered out; it was dark apart from the dim light coming through the sides of the thick curtain.
When his eyes adjusted, he whispered.
" Right Charlie, geeze a sack up."
He grabbed the sack and climbed silently all the way into the 'Stable', where he placed the three Magi, the sheep, the donkey and the Holy Family. From further sacks, he received the crib, the camels and the baby Jesus. He placed these where he thought they should be, and after tying a length of string to a curtain ring he climbed back through the trapdoors.
" Right, whit time is it? "
Charlie checked his watch. He handed Wullie a lit roll-up and said.
"Goad it's five minutes tae midnight. You know whit Wullie, A feel guid noo. Efter findin oot who stole that stuff fae the church. Stealin it back aff them. Then, sneakin in here the night tae put it back, well, it makes me feel guid, and och... A dunno... Fur the first time in years A feel well
Christmassy."
Wullie laid his arm along his auld pals shoulder.
''Aye yi'r right mate".
As soon as the bells tolled midnight, Wullie pulled slowly on the drawstring to open the curtain. Both men smiled as they heard the gasps of awe from the congregation. The Nativity scene they thought they had lost was miraculously revealed.
© Weefatfella. 2013.
Archived comments for A Miracle at Midnight. Mikeverdi on 02-12-2013 A Miracle at Midnight. A true Christmas tale, nice one Paul. I've asked father Christmas for you're book in my stocking :0) Mike Author's Reply: Cheers Mike. Always my sure bet for a comment. I hope you enjoy Mair Ae Weefatfella's Weavings.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Mair-Weefatfellas-Weavings-Wondrous-Weavings-ebook/dp/B00EMZPY8W Kipper on 02-12-2013 A Miracle at Midnight. Hi Paul You\'ve done it again. A good story well told and with a nice Christmasy twist. I love the detail and the true sounding dialogue. I did have a little difficulty here and there but as I have a sister-in-law from Walls End I imagined her telling the story. Worked fine. Michael PS Edit. The illustration is great. Is it your own artwork? Author's Reply:
Thank you Michael for your lovely comments. The Scottish vernacular is my trademark here. It's getting so I find it difficult to explain myself in any other medium. The sketch is from the internet, I wish I could draw as well. Thank you again for popping by, I do appreciate you reading, and your comments. Weefatfella. bo_duke99 on 02-12-2013 A Miracle at Midnight. a great Christmas tale, some really arresting images, and the imagined witches etc. was brill, nice one man - Greg Author's Reply:
Thanks for dropping by Greg, and for your supportive comments. Weefatfella. Pronto on 03-12-2013 A Miracle at Midnight. Och aye, it was a smashing Christmas tale well told as usual Paul. Well done mate Author's Reply:
Cheers Pronto, I;m glad you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading, commenting and for your very generous rating...shuks! Weefatfella. OldPeculier on 03-12-2013 A Miracle at Midnight. Nice one. Good bit of Christmas cheer. Author's Reply:
Cheers OP pleased you were cheered mate. Weefatfella. Ionicus on 04-12-2013 A Miracle at Midnight. A nice zippy wee tale, Paul. Good all round. Author's Reply:
Thank you for dropping by luigi always appreciated. Grazie. Weefatfella. pommer on 04-12-2013 A Miracle at Midnight. Hi WFF,what a lovely Christmas story.When first reading it I found it quite eerie.I was able to picture the scene, and the sense of foreboding,but then the excellent finish.All I can say i enjoyed your story.Well done my friend. Have a lovely Christmas and a good New Year. Pommer Author's Reply:
Thanks Pommer, for your kind comments and your very generous rating. I wish you and yours the compliments of the season. I hope Santa is good to you. Weefatfella. Rab on 04-12-2013 A Miracle at Midnight. Nice one Paul, the characterisation and suspense raise it above the expected Christmas fare. Author's Reply:
Thanks Rab. I'm fair chuffed you enjoyed it. As a taxi driver Rab, I'm expecting a few fares this Christmas. Weefatfella. BigIan on 06-12-2013 A Miracle at Midnight. It drew me in - spooky and then warmth! You caught us out you swine! Well done WFF! I can't write any tales for anticipating your next one! Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Ian, you're very gracious. Thank you also, for your very generous rating. Weefatfella. Weefatfella on 13-05-2014 A Miracle at Midnight.
Thank you very much indeedy for your nomination. I'm fair chuffed. Weefatfella. Author's Reply: Skytrucker on 25-06-2014 A Miracle at Midnight. Excellent! A brilliant offering frae a fellow Scot! Author's Reply:
Thanks mate I'm glad you enjoyed it. |
| Auld Bill. (posted on: 22-11-13) Old cabbies don't die. They just get flagged down. 
Auld Bill..
The sun washed over the car park of London Taxi's Direct. Steam from recently washed cabs drifted breath-like from the roofs and vanished into the warm still air.
Smiling mechanics with overalls rolled down to their waists, sat having lunch on old car seats while throwing insults and banter at each other.
I sat on the low wall smoking and enjoying their antics. The rumble of an old Austin FX4 filled the yard. The mechanics stood as if to attention as the old Matriarch cruised into the car park. Her chrome fixings and highly polished panels flashed and sparkled as she turned the tight circle the black cab is famous for.
I watched admiringly as she drew up beside me. She shivered and purred before the cabbie turned the key to set her at rest.
The old driver wearing a white flat cap and purple tinted ,gold rimmed John Lennon spectacles, drew on his cheroot and smiled at me.
'' Awright son? Dae yie like ma auld 'buggy'?''
'' Aw Aye mate, she's a cracker.''
He threw the door open and stepped out. He was the most flamboyant dresser I had ever seen. A nineteen seventies cherry red leather bomber jacket, with tan elbow patches and a high rounded collar, sat above a pristine white shirt and chinos. A chrome buckle with the superman logo flashed in between. Highly polished tan brogues shone on his feet. The only thing missing was spats.
He handed me the keys.
'' Are yie jokin mate?''
'' Naw son. Jump in. Ma names Bill by the way.''
I sat on the comfortable drivers seat and took in the smells of Bill's tobacco, the leather seats and polish. The maple steering wheel, sleek with years of use, felt smooth and warm. I ran my hands round the thin wheel feeling the smooth bumps of the finger grips. I turned the key. The engine fired up immediately. The buzzer went off telling me one of the back doors had opened. Bill had jumped in and was sitting in the back. The seat was red leather and looked sumptuous.
'' Cumoan then son. Yir a taxi driver A take it? ''
''Aye, but no in Glesca. A work in West Lothian.''
'' Well this auld buggy disnae care whit area yie work in. Aw yie huv tae be is a taxi driver. Right son, select drive and we'll git away. Jist take us round the block... Whit's yir name son? ''
'' Paul
Paul Hawthorne. ''
'' Right Paul, let's go son.''
I put my foot on the large square brake pedal and gripped the horse-head shaped gear handle. I selected drive. The engine tone changed slightly before the old buggy pulled easily and smoothly away. I turned left out of the gate and headed down the hill. She drove comfortably and responded instantly. The steering was heavier than I was used to, but not overly so. I was enjoying the experience.
I looked in the rear view mirror old Bill had lit another cheroot and was smoking away happily. Well it was his car. We rounded the block and soon arrived back at the garage. I turned in the gate and parked the taxi in front of the doors, exactly where I had left from.
'' Well whit did yie think son? She drives like new doesn't she?''
''Aye she's a fine auld buggy Bill. How long have yie had her? ''
'' A bought the taxi when she was brand new in nineteen seventy three, A don't think there's a piece ae metal oan her that wiz there when she left the factory. A've put three engines in her and five gear boxes. I got it when A wiz forty three, A'm eighty three noo.''
'' Yir eighty three and still sloggin away aff the ranks?''
'' Aye A like tae work son
It's no a hard job efter aw and A like the banter fae the guys and the punters tae. They aw love ma auld motor. Right son, A better away in and see the wee lassie in here tae book ma caur in fur its service.''
'' Aye okay Bill, A'll see yie when yie come oot.''
I sat for another ten minutes. Philip the head mechanic who had been servicing my taxi came out and while holding the keys up he said.
'' Okay Paul that's you mate. I've checked everything. Yir brake pads were a wee bit low so A put a new set on. Jist be careful fur a wee while tae they bed in. Okay?''
''Aye, thanks Phil. That's some auld motor there is it no?''
'' Whit auld motor?''
'' That auld FX4 there.''
'' Where?''
I turned back to the car park. The FX4 had gone.
'' Where's auld Bill? He went in tae see Tricia aboot ten minutes ago. He didnae come back oot
Well at least no fae this door. ''
'' Did you say auld Bill? ''
'' Aye, A did''
'' Did he have a white cap and purple tinted glasses oan and wiz he wearin a red leather jacket wie patches?''
'' Aye he wiz. Why?''
Philip had a strange look on his face as he said.
'' Paul, follow me.''
We walked up the car park and round behind the old taxis that were used for spares. There at the back among the long grass and weeds was an old nineteen seventy three FX4. The axle and wheels were gone, along with the windows and the interior. The paint was peeling off and most of the engine was missing. She had been cannibalised and stripped down to the shell. Pieces of old wire and hoses were hanging out of the rusted engine compartment. I looked inside at the automatic gear handle... It was a horses head. looking at Philip, I shook my head as I said.
'' is this old Bill's taxi? ''
"Aye, He brought this taxi in here about five years ago for a service. While he was waiting he took unwell. We phoned fur the ambulance it came quick enough, but the auld guy passed away before they reached the hospital. The family didnae want the taxi. Big John the owner ae the garage bought it aff them fur spares. This is all that's left ae it.''
'' Philip, A wiz drivin that auld cab half an hour ago.''
'' Aye A know.''
He began to walk away, Without looking round, he called,
''Keep an eye oan they brakes will yie Paul. See yie later.''
I looked at the old cab. After shaking my head I walked to my own cab and headed up the motorway to Bathgate. The brakes were fine.
Copyright © Weefatfella.
Archived comments for Auld Bill. Mikeverdi on 22-11-2013 Auld Bill. Just love you're taxi stories Paul, good to see you back on form mate (and not a lizard in sight!) Mike Author's Reply: 
Aye. A'm no finished wie they buggers yit Mike. Thank you very much Mike for you unflagging support. Yir A Mate. Weefatfella. BigIan on 22-11-2013 Auld Bill. Don't know where that came from Paul, but well done. A brilliant read matey! Author's Reply:
Cheers Ian and thanks for your very generous rating. It's appreciated. Weefatfella. Kipper on 23-11-2013 Auld Bill. Another great story Paul (hope you don't mind) and I'm getting the hang of the accent now. One thing. I'd like to know what the mechanic knew at the end. An intentional tease perhaps, or did I miss something? Great writing-worth a ten. Michael Author's Reply: Kipper on 23-11-2013 Auld Bill. Another great story Paul (hope you don't mind) and I'm getting the hang of the accent now. One thing. I'd like to know what the mechanic knew at the end. An intentional tease perhaps, or did I miss something? Great writing-worth a ten. Michael Author's Reply:
Hi Michael. Thank you for reading and for taking a further interest in the story. Philip and indeed everyone in the garage know about Auld Bill, >>The mechanics stood as if to attention as the old Matriarch cruised into the car park.<< Like all ghost stories,the people directly involved never want to talk about it. Philip knew the story and he Knew Auld Bill in life.>> β Did he have a white cap and purple tinted glasses oan and wiz he wearin a red leather jacket wie patches?β << I hope this clears things up fur yie Michael. Weefatfella. OldPeculier on 23-11-2013 Auld Bill. A good story, well told. The FX4 was the last of the real taxis I reckon. Well done. Author's Reply:
Aye yi'r right OP, although there is a strong argument for the TX1 with the 2.700 Nissan. Thank you for dropping by mate. I appreciate you doing so and fighting with the auld Scots dialogue. Weefatfella. pommer on 23-11-2013 Auld Bill. What a great story Paul, as usual.Had me gripped all the way through.I love ghost stories, as we were always telling them around the fireplace in my old home. Well written.By the way, I still have my old black bomber jacket from my days as an older rocker.Well written and most entertaining. Author's Reply:
Pommer, thank you very much, both for your wonderful comments and your very humbling and generous rating. This didn't start as a ghost story but maybe Auld Bill took a hand? Thanks again mate. Weefatfella. Kipper on 23-11-2013 Auld Bill. Thanks for the explanation Paul. I knew it was a ghost story of course; just wasn't sure if 'they' did. BTW it look as though I forgot to click on a number. I'll do it now! Cheers again, Michael Author's Reply:
Cheers Michael. Thank you for your very generous rating. A'm ower the moon. Weefatfella. orangedream on 25-11-2013 Auld Bill. Enviably good writing. More than enjoyed. Tina Author's Reply:
Why thank you madam. ( Doffs his panama in a wide extravagant sweep) Weefatfella. ValDohren on 28-11-2013 Auld Bill. Ooooh now I'm scared of taxis !! Another great story Paul. Val :-{ Author's Reply:
Thank you Val, your comments are always appreciated. Weefatfella. |
| A Fool and His Money. (posted on: 11-11-13) Sometimes you have to be the Captain of the ship. 
A Fool and 'His' Money.
He was swaying backwards and forwards as the weight of his waving arm changed his centre of gravity. A pair of burgundy Doc Martin boots with yellow-latticed laces stalwartly kept him vertical. Denim jeans with turn-ups brought the eye up to a large skull and crossbones chrome belt buckle. Above this, a black t-shirt held a white bitten apple.
His bearded and square pony tailed head, floated precariously above the collar of a full-length black leather coat. The bright red lining of which framed his body.
His right hand waved from left to right before sharply diving down with the index finger pointing to the kerb below him. I fired up the hack, flicked the meter on and crossed the road. He climbed in.
'' Awright ma man? Dae yie know where A can git a cairry-oot?..Aye youz guys know where tae git a drink at this time ae the night. Cummoan ma man. Wheraboots can a guy git mair drink when aw the pubs are shut?''
'' It's one o-clock in the morning mate. Yir no gaunnae git a drink in West Lothian at this time ae the night.''
'' Whereaboots then? A'm no short.''
He pulled a roll of money from his coat pocket and held it up. There were browns, purples, and more than a few reds in there. He was holding at least a grand and a half.
'' The only place yi'll git a cairry-oot at this time ae night mate, is Fiery Jacks on Lothian Road in Edinburgh.
'' Whit will that cost me?''
'' Fifty quid mate, twenty five in, and the same oot.''
I held my open palm at the pay point.
'' It's money up front mate
Sorry.''
He peeled off a fifty as he said,
'' Fifty quid, there yie are ma man.''
I took his money and the motorway to Auld Reekie.
Outside Fiery Jacks, a huge, buck-toothed, ogre-like, black bouncer with his head protruding from his chest, sniffed loudly as he stretched his leather jacket. His dragging knuckles ploughed the pavement as he slinked menacingly while scanning the area for victims.
The pub sat back from the road. The large window flashed red and blue as the lights from the disco animated the interior.
I pointed.
'' In there mate. Jist walk right in.''
His long black coat dramatically splayed out behind him as he purposefully made his way towards the entrance. The bouncer, with his long arms crossed in front of his bedroom furniture, stood in front of the door. After a few exchanges, he stepped to the side and let the guy in.
I got out of the cab and lit a cigarette. The frost on the pavements had a strange amber glow as it picked up the colour from the tall streetlamps. The cars red brake lights and yellow flashing indicators imitated the traffic lights. Across the road on the taxi rank, waiting cabs glowed orange as their begging lights reflected on their bonnets. The sound of high-pitched emergency sirens confirmed my presence in the city.
A group of women and girls wearing tu-tu's and pink frilly knickers clucked excitedly past. The future bride with a broken stiletto and wearing an L-plate, sucked a large dummy as she led the brood up the hill.
As I looked downhill towards Princes Street, I mused over the watchtower in St Cuthbert's graveyard. During the time of the resurrectionists, people would pay to stay in the tower overlooking the cemetery to guard their recently buried family or friends against being resurrected and sold to the Edinburgh College of Surgeons.
On the opposite side of the street stood the Caledonian hotel
The bouncer intruded on my tour of the city.
'' Listen mate. Is that guy in the Matrix gear a pal ae yours?''
'' Naw, he's jist a fare. Why?''
'' He's in there arguing wie the barmaid. He's no oot ae order yit but in a minute A'll be gaun in tae tear him a new arse. Dae yie want tae help him by savin me the bother?''
There's a sense of duty or responsibility for the welfare of the passenger until the fare is completed. This isn't something I've ever discussed with another driver, but I feel it's true. I decided to go in.
'' Aye awright big-yin. Wull yie keep an eye oan ma motor?''
'' Aye go and git that fanny ootae there afore A lose the plot awthegither.''
I locked the cab and made my way into the pub.
Tall backed wooden stools surrounded the bar. An assortment of human beings in various colours and genders occupied the seats. Suitors and lovers draped themselves over the seated; they touched and sycophantically caressed them in an attempt to scratch whatever particular itch, they suffered from. Coloured flashing lights spinning slowly, revealed faces in animated conversation. A blonde vegan wearing virtually nothing, rattled her skinny frame to Paul Oakenfold's Ready Steady Go.
I looked along the inside of the bar. A guy with a top hat balanced on the back of his head, ripped the top off a beer bottle and slammed it down hard in front of a bald punter. Next to him, an attractive brunette smiled as she handed change over the counter. To her left, using both hands to emphasise her point, a tall pony-tailed blonde was arguing with my fare.
'' Look mate, A've told yie already. Yie took a boattle intae the lavy wie yie. That's why there's only five in the bag.''
'' I excused myself as I squeezed in between a brace of Mohican lesbians. Standing with one hand holding the handle of an open carrier bag and the other on his head, my fare, stressed to the max, was arguing with the barmaid.
'' Cumoan, hink aboorit, naebody buys five boattles ae beer, it's always six or a dozen. Yie only buy five if that's aw yi've goat the money fur.''
'' Listen tae me ya plank. There's naebody sayin yie bought five Grolsh. A've been tryin tae tell yie, yie bought half a dozen right enough, but
''
The guy began to shake his head.
The barmaid patiently continued.
Noo, A said listen tae me, think back. Yie took a boattle aff the counter and went intae the lavatry, remember noo?''
I put my hand on his shoulder. He shook his head as he looked at me.
''A'm yir taxi driver
. Remember?''
'' Whit's aw this remember pish? Dae yiz hink A've loast it or sumhin?''
'' Naw mate. A brought yie in fae Bathgate
Dae yie remember
The taxi?
'' Fur fuck sake, will yiz stoap aw this remember shite? A cannae remember, A'm pished.''
I tapped him on the shoulder.
'' Whit noo?''
'' A'm gaun intae the toilet tae see if yi've left a boattle ae beer in there right enough.''
'' Aye the best ae luck tae yie mate, it's fuckin mingin in there. A nearly passed oot wie the stink. There's a guy dyin in there man.''
Just behind him on the wall was the sign for the loo, a thick, chrome, pointing finger, with the word 'Gents' showed the way.
I pushed the creaking door open. Someone was ill. The place was alive with the foulest stench. Two six-foot fluorescent lights with broken starters flashed quickly on and off as they clung to the ceiling. Moans and groans, accompanied by horrible sounds of extended, noisy and painful bowel evacuations, came from behind one of the cubicles. Four full fetid urinals hung on the wall like half eaten rotten pears.
I began to retch. I covered my mouth with my hand as I kicked the cubicle doors open. Each sight got progressively worse. This shitehole hadn't ever been cleaned. Loaded and scrunched up paper tissue littered the floor. A massacre of cigarette packets with their flip-top lids gaping like wounds, covered the spaces in between. Evidence of disease-induced diarrhoea clung to the inside of the bowls in long thick tongues. Finger width brown smears in lines of two and four cut through the graffiti on the filthy tiled walls.
In the last 'offal' smelling cubicle, on top of the cracked cistern, stood the missing green bottle of grolsh. The bottle had a swing top lid which was thankfully closed sealing the contents from this filthy environment. White balls of gas chased each other up to the surface of the beer, aerating the liquid, and professing its wholesomeness and purity.
I rescued the bottle and hurried through the fumes to the bar. The guy had calmed down and he was talking to the barmaid. I gave him the bottle.
'' There yie are mate. It's nae wunner yie left it mate. The stink in there wid knock yie out man.''
'' Aye mate yir no jokin. A nearly died in there. The smell nearly sobered me up.''
Yie right then? Yie goin noo?''
'' Aye let's go mate, let's git the fuck outae this dive.''
He looked at the barmaid and said.
'' A apologise hen but A hud tae git oot ae that shitehole yie huv back there. A wiz gittin dizzy. A don't know who the guy is in there, but yie should maybe git him an ambulance. Half his insides huv fell oot his arse, there cannae be much ae him left. Yie should send somebody in afore he disappears doon the pan awthegither.''
He lifted his bag and emptied the bottle in one long drink. He placed the bottle reverently on the bar. After handing the barmaid a tenner he winked at her and turned to me saying,
'' Yie right driver? Lets go.''
The bouncer was standing outside as we left. He turned and looked us both up and down before saying,
'' Yir taxi's fine. A checked it wiz locked afore A came back tae ma post here mate. A see yie goat hings soarted then?''
'' Aye fine mate.''
The indicators flashed as I opened the doors of the cab . We both climbed in and headed back to West Lothian.
On the way the guy had a wee sleep which helped to sober him up. He awoke and sat bolt upright. He frantically began to search all his pockets. After switching the interior light on, he placed what money he had on the seat, he stood up and searched again before finally sitting down and stuffing the money into his inside coat pocket.
He sat back down and put his head in his hands. After lifting his head he said.
'' Eh, mate huv A paid you fur this?''
'' Aye yie have . Yie paid me fifty quid before we left Bathgate, why?''
'' Hing is mate, A work fur Cathlaw Plant Hire. Ma boss sent me tae deliver a generator tae a building site the day. A delivered it and the guy took me intae his office. He gave me an envelope oot his safe wie the money fur the generator inside. That wiz two hundred pounds.
Jist as he wiz gonnie shut the safe again, a worker ran in and told him a guy hud fell aff a roof. He ran right oot leavin me in the office wie the safe door lyin open. A looked inside, there wiz a coupla piles ae notes. A lifted them mate.''
'' Yie stole the money? Fuck sake mate.''
He shook his head and said,
'' Aye A know mate, Two thousand and sixty five quid A left that office wie. A've counted whit's left. It's no looking good mate.''
He took the roll of notes from his pocket and with a grim expression he began again to count and recount, in hope the total would change, or he may have missed a note or two.
I watched him as he counted. Not only was he counting the money,he was counting away his job and his liberty. The police would be waiting for him at his home in Bathgate. He would be arrested and would probably spend the rest of the night, if not the weekend in the cells.
'' Listen mate, jist take a boattle oot the bag and wire in. It's goannie be a rough coupla days fur yie fae noo oan, eh.''
'' Aye thanks mate, yir right.''
He bent down and took a bottle from the bag. He flicked the swing top open and raised the bottle to me through the screen.
'' Cheers driver.''
I nodded. I switched the intercom off and turned up the Dire straits cd. He smiled as he sat back and began to savour his beer.
The police transit van was sitting parked just up from his house.
'' jist stop here mate. A'll have a smoke as A walk doon.''
He opened the door and stepped out. The empty bottles clinked loudly as he lifted the bag. Stopping at the passenger window he tapped the top of his bottle on the glass. I lowered the window and said,
'' Best ae luck mate.''
'' Aye you tae mate.''
He winked before he swaggered with bottle in hand towards the police van.
Copyright © Weefatfella.
Archived comments for A Fool and His Money. Rab on 11-11-2013 A Fool and His Money. Nice story Paul, with the ring of truth about it. Makes me glad that I don't go to clubs any more! Author's Reply:
Thanks Rab. It's all made up mate. There is no pub as far as I believe, on Lothian road call Fiery Jacks. It's a great compliment that it rang true though. Cheers Rab, thanks for dropping by and for your great comments. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 11-11-2013 A Fool and His Money. Bloody hell Paul! I was thinking of coming up for a drink or three.... but you seem like a bunch of light weights Ha Ha! Mike regards to 'the sweetness' Author's Reply:
Hello Mike. Great to hear from you again. Thank you for asking after Theresa. She's, as usual tip top thankfully. Please take my serious and best regards to Lesley, I hope she's well. Thank you for your amazing support, your generous rating and Humorous comment. Cheers Mate. Weefatfella. Kipper on 12-11-2013 A Fool and His Money. Another cracking story - I think. Very descriptive; I could almost smell it. Nice dialect too, not overdone for the rest of us, even though there was the odd passage I had to read twice. Michael Author's Reply:
Cheers Michael. I'm really pleased you enjoyed this. Thank you for reading and more importantly for commenting. Weefatfella. ValDohren on 13-11-2013 A Fool and His Money. Ooooooh, I feel quite sick now !! Certainly descriptive. Val Author's Reply:
Oh my Val. hope you feel better soon. Thanks for dropping by. Weefatfella.x OldPeculier on 14-11-2013 A Fool and His Money. Good one. Author's Reply:
Cheers OP, and a special thanks to the mystery Nibber too.! Andrea on 18-11-2013 A Fool and His Money. Nice one, WFF π Love the pic, too...(p.s. How to you get one on ABC?) Author's Reply:
I'll Pm you boss.x |
| A Lovely Spot. (posted on: 04-11-13) Night fishing on the Clyde. 
A Lovely Spot.
Silver brush strokes of lunar ribbons lapped the surface of the smooth and rippling water as it slipped between the banks. An old arched bridge threw a long shadow on the surface. The deep grey river, a fast moving entity, rolled determinedly downstream. A broken homemade bow, with its string trapped in the branches of a drooping mountain ash, noisily slapped the surface.
On the opposite bank, the shallow water applauded, as its searching fingers busily probed between and below the slick algae covered boulders. In the middle of the river, a fly fisherman, waist deep in the water, pulled a length of line with his left hand and slowly drew back his right. As the rod fell behind him, he quickly flicked it sending an invisible coil looping upstream. The lure landed softly.
The fisherman watched intently as the fast flowing water brought the 'fly' towards the noisy bow. The unusual sound, would, the hunter knew, attract the curious fish. As the line passed beyond the splashing bow, he pulled it from the water and cast again.
Something strange caught his eye. A dark submerged shape was coming towards him. He kept his eye on it. It was a man's shoe. The half submerged shoe, bobbed slowly as it passed. He remembered just two weeks before, that a murder had been committed on the bridge. A man had been attacked and stabbed to death. The corpse was thrown over the parapet and disposed of into the river.
The tip of the grim reapers scythe disguised as a breath of cold air, touched the back of the fisherman's neck, making him shiver. He looked to the bridge.
<><><><><><><>
The full moon silhouetted the two men struggling there in silence. One had a knife. He raised the blade from left to right in a backhanded sweeping arc. The other, with wide arms and his jacket billowing, staggered backwards onto his heels, he almost fell as he narrowly avoided the deadly stroke. The knifeman lunged quickly, stabbing at his stomach. The knife, kicked from his hand, flew spinning and flashing into the air. It landed noisily against the wall of the bridge.
They raced for the weapon. One grabbed the other round the neck. They both fell hard to the ground as they wrestled for advantage. One lost the impetus as he reached in desperation for the blade. Breathing hard, they gripped each other like lovers. The man on his back grunted as the other bit hard into his cheek. He tore a mouthful of flesh from his face and spat the bloody meat into the others eyes. A hot searing pain shot along his ribs.
They rolled. On his back now, he grabbed the others wrist stopping the metal point an inch from his chest. He could feel the strength in the man as the point of the shaking knife, began to lower towards his chest. Sweat and blood dripped onto his face. Hard, heavy, hot breath, mixed with spit, warmed him.
He began to feel dizzy as his strength along with his life's blood, seeped out of the wound in his side. The knife broke the skin above his heart.
'' No...Not here
Not tonight...Not like this.''
The cold point of the serrated blade pushed the bone in his chest aside as it slipped determinedly downwards.
'' Please, no.''
The killer wept as he stared into the eyes of his victim. He disregarded the pleas for life and continued forcing the blade deeper. It was easier now the fight was over. All he had to do was finish it. He plunged the knife into the man's heart.
Gas and gore gurgled from the dead man's chest. He stood with his hands on his knees gasping for breath. An owl hooted in judgement behind him. He turned and watched as the bird silently and unconcerned, went about its business. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood and gore from his face. Grabbing the body, he heaved it onto the bridge-side. The cadaver fell backwards into the river below. As it hit the water, the left shoe came off and lodged between some rocks. The body floated downstream leaving it behind.
<><>><><><><>
The fly passed the bow for the third time. The water thrashed as a large trout took the bait. The fisherman reeled in and at the same time pulled hard on the rod forcing the hook through the roof of the trout's mouth. The fish swam deep as it tried to get away. The fisherman gave the rainbow its head for a short burst, before holding the line taught, and then reeled in steadily. The surface water bubbled again and the silver underbelly flashed brightly in the moonlight as the fish broke the surface.
The angler stepped backwards through the water. He leaned back and picked up his net. In one smooth movement, he slipped it below the writhing trout and scooped it out of the water. He examined the fish, it was eight inches long and looked and felt around eight pounds in weight. He took his knife from the sheath on his leg and cut the line, he removed the fly and dropped the trout into his keepnet. He stood and looked over the river and up again towards the bridge. The moonlight revealed a calm and peaceful scene. As he rubbed the scar on his cheek, he said to himself.
''Aye a lovely spot, and well worth fighting for.''
© Weefatfella.
Archived comments for A Lovely Spot. Mikeverdi on 04-11-2013 A Lovely Spot. Excellent story telling Paul, your description of the fight and killing were as real as it gets. Good to read you again. Mike Author's Reply:
Great to hear from you again Mike. Thank you for your encouraging comments and your very generous rating. Weefatfella. OldPeculier on 04-11-2013 A Lovely Spot. Very good. Loved the first paragraph. Have you been taking poetry pills? Author's Reply:
Ha!.. Poetry. Oh my God Naw! poetry fascinates me, but is way beyond my skills. Thanks for the compliment OP but I'll stick to what I can just about manage. Weefatfella. Kipper on 04-11-2013 A Lovely Spot. Bi eck, there's more to this fishing lark than I thought! Great story, great imagery, and a great twist. Nothing more to say. Oh yes, nice picture too. Michael Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Kipper, for your wonderfully encouraging comments and your incredibly generous rating. Weefatfella. stormwolf on 05-11-2013 A Lovely Spot. Hi Wee Fats π I see this is a change of style for you and demonstrates yet again that you can turn your hand to anything if you ask me..maybe even poetry one day! *shock! horror!* Anyway, the end was a great twist, the fight scene gruesome and the plot excellent. Alison x Author's Reply:
Alison. Great tae hear fae yie hen.. A've missed yie. Thank you very much indeed for dropping by and for your very generous rating and wonderfully encouraging comments. Poetry I'll leave to the gifted. {The Sweetness has yir glesses by-ra-way.} Weefatfella. <3 Ionicus on 05-11-2013 A Lovely Spot. DΓ©jΓ vu, Paul? Most certainly. Not long ago I posted a comment on this piece which was accompanied by two jucy cherries. Now the 'Great Read' nib has also appeared to complement the other accolade. A different style from previous contributions but equally enjoyable. Luigi Author's Reply:
Grazie mille luigi. On two counts. I have recently been posting there. I think there are more prose writers on that site but it's hard to tell. I've been very busy at work recently and have found it hard to scribble at all. It's lightening up now though Weegrassotizio. Weefatfella. Rab on 05-11-2013 A Lovely Spot. I really like this, Paul, even if I had to read it through twice to get it. Very well constructed, and as Mike has said, the fight scene was really gripping. Ross Author's Reply:
Aye Rab, I know what you mean. I had to triple check to see if the proper survivor had the cheek scar. To be perfectly honest, I'm still not sure. I'm pleased you enjoyed it Rab. Thank you very much for reading and more importantly, commenting. Cheers Mate. Weefatfella. Buschell on 05-11-2013 A Lovely Spot. You can't beat a twist and this one was a ripper. The angler fighting the fish and his rival showed up the quiet brutality that men are capable of on many levels. Not that fishing is brutal...unless you're the trout I s'pose. Good experiment matey! Author's Reply: Buschell on 05-11-2013 A Lovely Spot. You can't beat a twist and this one was a ripper. The angler fighting the fish and his rival showed up the quiet brutality that men are capable of on many levels. Not that fishing is brutal...unless you're the trout I s'pose. Good experiment matey! Author's Reply:
Thank you Buschell. Thanks a bundle Mate. A'm fair chuffedd noo!!! Weefatfella. BigIan on 05-11-2013 A Lovely Spot. Geez! You have a dark side!! You surprised us there - waiting for the funnies but excellent Weefatfella! Sheesh! Author's Reply: Thanks Ian. I tried something a wee bit different. I'm pleased it seems to have worked. Weefatfella. {My Photobucket Won't load up. Don't know whit's wrang.} TheBigBadG on 07-11-2013 A Lovely Spot. So this is another autobiographical tale from the taxi years, right? Remind me never to get on your bad side. Some really good stuff in here though, the opening paras and the deed itself are really strong moments. Lines like this: 'On the opposite bank, the shallow water applauded, as its searching fingers busily probed between and below the slick algae covered boulders.' Excellent stuff, really nice. I reckon you'd do yourself a favour by putting section breaks in between the angler and the fight just because the shift in point of view is jarring. One after 'The full moon silhouetted the two men struggling there in silence.' and another after 'The body floated downstream leaving it behind.' Without them you lose the impact of some of the fight because you're trying to adjust, with them it's marked out and the reader knows (sort of!) what's happening. A very enjoyable read all round, though. If this was a tester then I say go for it. More please! Author's Reply:
Thanks George, I'm really pleased that you took the time to pop in and have a wee gaze at my scribblings. I really have a strong compulsion to write and it gives me amazing satisfaction when I receive compliments and constructive critique from someone as technically gifted as yirsell. I have taken your points on board and again I have learned something ( I didn't know about section breaks...thanks to your good self I do now.) Weefatfella. |
| The Dark Destroyer. (posted on: 07-10-13) The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy! 
The Dark Destroyer.
It was three o'clock on Sunday morning. Big Tam drew up to the kerb, after stopping the meter he said,
''That's six pounds forty plea
The back doors of the rover had been thrown open and the two punters were off and running. Tam was a practicing marathon runner. While leaving the taxi, he reached below the seat and pulled the expandable torque wrench from its hiding place. As his pace lengthened, so did the heavy chrome bar. Two minutes later, Tam had his selected victim cornered and up against a garage door.
The guy was wearing a dark brown hoodie with the words ' Buckfast makes you fuck fast.' emblazoned on the front. Apparently unconcerned, he leaned casually against the garage door and began to slowly roll a cigarette. As Tam approached, he licked the paper and spat on the ground. He bent his leg against the door, and after lighting his smoke he flicked the match away as he asked,
'' Whit yie want mate? A've nae money.''
'' Listen ya fud, if yie don't give me ma fare A'm gonnie wrap this torque bar round yir neck.''
'' Fuck off ya prick. A've already telt yie A've nae money, so dae yir worst or make like Usain, and bolt, ya welt.''
Tam swung the bar. The runner dodged it easily.
'' Is that aw yi've goat ya fanny?''
He threw a kick at Tams leg. Tam swung the bar fluidly but swiftly behind him, the satisfying sound of a bone breaking and the scream of pain from the arsehole, made Tam's night. The runner was rolling on the ground holding his smashed shinbone in both hands while yelling,
'' Ya bastard, yi've broken ma leg. A'll hunt yie doon. A'll kill yie. You're dead meat. Dae you know who A'm urr?''
'' Fur Goad's sake mate yie git in a taxi wie nae money. Yie run oot without payin, and yie don't even know who yie are. You really are fucked up mate.''
A bright circle of light illuminated the guy on the ground, before lifting gradually to Tam's face, blinding him.
'' Drop the bar sir, and step away from the man on the ground. Face the garage and place your hands on the door
Do it now sir.
'' He owes me six pounds and forty pence and A want it.''
'' Step back now sir or my big partner here will haud yie, while A batter lumps oot yie wie ma truncheon.''
A huge black policeman was rolling towards Tam with a hungry look on his large grinning face.
The guy on the ground, still holding his leg called.
''Burst the bastard. Burst him now. He's a nutcase officer, smash the ugly bastard's heid in wie yir truncheon. If A could staun A wid kill the fucker massell.''
'' You shut it. Oannymare fae your mooth and A'll break yir other leg.''
Tam was arrested and subsequently had his taxi licence suspended for three months, he also received a two hundred pound fine for his trouble. The Runner limped clean away.
All taxi drivers received a directive from the council: No tools, which could be used as weapons, are permitted in the passenger compartment of a taxi. Spot checks were set up to ensure the drivers followed the new rule to the letter.
The taxi drivers, feeling they had lost their traditional insurance and back up, began to search among themselves for a way round the new rule.
'' Aye, that'll be right, the bastards wullnae bump me. A keep the caur in reverse, if they try tae run oottae ma motor withoot payin, A sink the pedal and batter them wie the open door.''
'' Naw A ask fur the fare jist afore A stoap. If they huvnae goat it, A keep drivin tae they give me it. If they still don't have it A drive straight tae the polis station. ''
'' A've goat the Dark Destroyer.''
'' The whit?''
'' The Dark Destroyer, that's whit A call it. It's a torch. A'll go and get it.''
Big Frank walked back to his taxi and returned carrying the biggest rubber appliance this side of Bangkok. It was two feet long with a six-inch lense and reflector. The 'Destroyer' held three six-volt batteries and weighed nine pounds. It had more candles than the Sistine chapel and it cut through the night like a world war two searchlight.
Frank smacked the torch into his left hand; a satisfyingly dull thud filled the air. The watching drivers, as one, nodded their heads in agreement. Frank suddenly jumped to the side and swung the torch at a driver's head, he stopped short of actually striking the man as he said,
'' Fuck-oh! There yie are ya bastard, yir deid, ''
The driver jumped away saying.
'' Careful wie that thing man. Yie could cave a man's heid in wie that monster. ''
'' Frank was elated.
'' Aye, wan hit fae the Dark Destroyer here and yir teas oot. It wid knock yie intae the middle ae next week, aye, wan guid skelp ower the nut wie this, wid kill half yir family.''
After passing the torch round all the drivers, Frank returned the Destroyer to its hiding place below the drivers seat in his cab. If the police asked him why he had such a big torch, Frank had the answer.
'' It's to see the door numbers in the dark officer. Ma eyesight isnae whit it wiz and this big bastard turns night intae day fur me.''
Frank was desperate to try out his weapon but all his punters were now, exceptionally well behaved. No one was giving him the chance. All his fares had turned into well-mannered and genial pacifists. He tried winding people up by saying things like;
'' Eh, A know yie wont mind, but A went round the long way there, A wanted tae pass ma sisters hoose tae see if she hud hung her new curtains up.''
He tried;
'' Hey! That's an awffie smell yir kickin up there. That's terrible bad manners yie have, yie shoodnae drap yir bowels in a man's place ae work. That's another pound A'll huvtae add oantie the fare fur yir awffie bad behaviour.''
Surprisingly no one complained and the extra charges were paid with no exceptions.
Until one night, he was dropping three guys in Stoneyburn. As he stopped, the doors flew open. Frank had an idea on the way up the hill from Blackburn they were going to run; he had discretely placed the Destroyer ready on his lap. He was out and after the runners like a Ninja.
He picked his target and bolted after him. The sound of Frank's boots filled the night air as he thundered after his victim. The guy kept disappearing and reappearing in the glow of the yellow sulphur streetlights. Frank chased on, his breath coming easy as his powerful frame carried him closer to his target. The guy looked back now and again to check on his pursuers position. Frank could see the whites of the guy's eyes as his eyelids rose in surprise at how fast the taxi driver was coming.
The runner raised the pace as he turned a corner and jumped over a privet hedge into someone's garden. Frank followed. The guy slinked behind a garden shed as Frank came down the side of the house. All was dark; Frank flicked the torch on. The Destroyer lit the garden up like the searchlight from a pursuit helicopter.
'' Come oot ya fanny. Yie cannie hide fae me wie this fucker in ma haund, when A fund yie A'm gonnie flatten yie wie the bastard.''
The runner was panicking now.
'' Right A'm cumin oot, A've goat the money here. A didnae think yie were gonnie chase me aw this way furra fiver. Yir aff yir heid.''
Frank was devastated. He didn't want the money. After waiting all these weeks, he wanted to try out the weapon. Frank wasn't having it, when the guy came out, he was getting destroyed.
'' Eh, aye okay, oot yie come son. A'll no touch yie.''
The guy came out from behind the shed and into the light. All he could see was the blinding glare from the torch.
'' Turn that thing aff mate A cannie see tae walk.''
Frank could see the five-pound note in the guy's hand. He was going to have that after he skelped him over the head.
'' Aye in a minute, come a wee bit closer.''
As the guy approached Frank, the ball of light began to jump from side to side, Frank, on his toes now, was anticipating his attack. He was dodging from side to side like a demented Peruvian firedancer.
He swung the torch in a wide arc. As the weapon descended, the gravitational force pushed the heavy batteries sharply towards the reflector, which shattered. This broke the seal. The reflector and bulb followed by the batteries flew out of the torch before reaching the target. The Dark Destroyer had become the Dark Rubber Tube. The very light aluminium tube, cushioned by a rubber outer skin caressed the head of the runner.
In the darkness, he booted Frank in the ghoolies.
Frank dropped to his knees rolling in agony. The runner picked up the expensive batteries and put them in his pocket. As he walked away, he said.
'' Cheers fur the lift mate, Oh and the batteries.''
Archived comments for The Dark Destroyer. Mikeverdi on 08-10-2013 The Dark Destroyer. WFF, you tell these tails so well, I always feel as if we are in a pub and you are in the chair recounting your last nights episode...your round by the way π Mike Author's Reply:
Cheers Mike, I appreciate your kind comment. It was just unfortunate at the hotel after the meet the place was so noisy we couldn't hear ourselves think. I may have spun a few yarns then. Thanks again mate. Weefatfella. Ionicus on 08-10-2013 The Dark Destroyer. One thought occurred to me, Paul. Taxi drivers must be very fit after all those chases. I must take care to keep my fare handy and not aggravate the situation. A well told story, as usual, in your own inimitable style. Author's Reply:
Thanks for dropping by Luigi. The last thing I am is fit. Cheers for the kind comment Sir. Weefatfella. BigIan on 08-10-2013 The Dark Destroyer. A real case of assault and batteries! The culprits should be locked up in a (Dura)cell!! Well done WFF Author's Reply:
Brilliant Ian. Thank you for dropping by and shedding some light. Weefatfella. pommer on 13-10-2013 The Dark Destroyer. Hi,WFF,I felt really enlightened after reading your fantastic account.I could see it all in my mind.It can't be easy driving a Taxi at night,with some idiots thinking they get away without paying the fare.Sorry I didn't comment before, but life is a bit difficult at present. Be lucky, Pommer. Author's Reply:
Cheers Peter, for your generous comment. Aye it's a hard life just now in the taxi game. With this recession some people are taking risks they wouldn't normally take. I draw up to a busy rank in the black cab and the idiots, knowing they can't get out of a black cab without the driver allowing it by releasing the locks, step back to offer the taxi to someone else. I feel it for the saloon car drivers. Anyway this is me time. Thank you again pommer, for reading and commenting, Weefatfella. |
| My Wee Pal Adam. (posted on: 30-09-13) KIds can be so honest. 
'' What shift are you today Papa?''
'' Oh, I'm backshift. I like the backshift, I get a long lie on the backshift.''
'' I'm on the same shift as you Papa, I'm on the backshift too for a long lie.''
Adam turned and pulled the quilt over himself. While I made snoring noises,
the wee boy, prematurely, sounded the horn.
'' Dooo, dooo, dooo.''
'' Aw naw, whit horn is that?''
'' That's the backshift one Papa.''
'' Aw well, we better get up then.''
I threw the quilt off, as I swung my legs onto the floor. Adam followed. We stood at the back of the room with the wee boy leading. He was holding his arms in position mannequin-like, as if snapped in mid swing. His arms, raised one above the other, gave the impression of a forty something woman pretending to power walk.
I began
'' Heigh...ho
Heigh
ho
Heigh ho, heigh ho, it's off to work we go. We work all day and get no pay heigh ho heigh ho.''
We marched off with four-year-old Adam in front, singing at the top of our voices, swinging our arms and stomping forcefully all the way into the spare bedroom.
In there, we grabbed our 'picks' and began to work while singing.
''We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig our mine the whole day through''
Adam, the 'Gaffer', spotted Teddy Murphy slacking. He pointed an accusing finger and called,
'' Murphy, get working, swing your pick man, come on Teddy put your back into it man.''
Old Wilma the witch, hanging from the bedpost, wasn't pulling her weight. I called.
'' Wilma! Get your act together there, come on, get a move on wuman. ''
The Gaffer lifted his hard working head, he cast me a smiling glance as he called to the lazy witch,
'' Come on there 'WUMAN', work harder.''
He bent his back once more to his task, a second later, he sounded the horn to end the shift.
'' Dooo, dooo, doooo,''
We formed single file and the wee boy led the way as we sang,
'' Heigh ho, heigh ho it's home from work we go, we've worked all day and got no pay, heigh ho,heigh ho.''
Unpaid, we marched with feet stomping and arms pumping, back across the landing and into the bedroom. The wee boy must have been enjoying the march. While still heigh-hoeing, he turned and continued marching. Back across the landing we went, and into the box-room. We turned again and headed back the way we had come. On the way, because of my breathing difficulties, I was out of breath.
'' Oh Adam, I have to stop. I'm puffed.''
'' Okay Papa.''
We sat at the top of the stairs to allow me to get my breath back. Adam is very sympathetic to my condition and accepts I have to stop sometimes to gather myself. He took a toy car from his pocket and after turning it upside down; he flicked the wheels with his thumb and watched them rolling as he waited. He must have flicked too hard; the car flew out of his hand and bounced down the stairs.
The wee boy looked at me, he smiled his wonderful wee smile as he said,
'' Let's bum down and get it Papa.''
We lifted both our arms in the air, and as our bums hit the steps on the way down, we laughed at each other as we called,
''Bump, bump, bump''
At the bottom, Adam recovered the renegade car, after a second he looked me in the eye, he put his wee hand on my thigh. As he absently tapped his hand on my leg, he said.
'' Papa.''
'' Aye son.''
'' You know how ma old Granda's in heaven now?''
'' Yes he is Adam. He's up there with your old Grannie. They'll be sitting at a beach somewhere having a wee drink.Yir auld Granda liked a wee pint and yir Grannie liked the beach.''
'' Papa.''
'' Aye son.''
''Do you remember when you were in the hospital all that time, and you had that fing on yir face, and it wiz noisy like Darf Vader?''
'' Aye Adam.''
'' Well, you're okay now Papa, eh.''
'' Aye son, I'm getting there. It won't be long before I'm a lot better.'' Adam put his head down, he was clearly thinking, and his wee hand on my leg, tapped, just a wee bit quicker. He lifted his head and looked at me as he said.
'' You're not going anywhere Papa, eh no?''
'' No Adam, Papa's not going anywhere. Not for a very, long, long time.''
The wee boy slid off the step and onto the carpet. He raised his arm and held it for a second, before placing it deliberately on the floor, as very young children do. He slowly laid his right cheek on his forearm and turned his face away from me. I could see his wee chest shuddering. he said very quietly, but clearly,
'' I'm not crying Papa."
I was.
Archived comments for My Wee Pal Adam. Nomenklatura on 30-09-2013 My Wee Pal Adam. Very moving without descending into 'schmalz'. On a purely writing note I'd remove the parenthetic explanation about the C.Pap, you don't need it. Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Ewan, I appreciate your critique on the parenthesis. Advice taken and acted on. You're 100% correct, the piece reads much better without it. Weefatfella. Andrea on 30-09-2013 My Wee Pal Adam. Agree with Ewan. A great write but lose the C Pap, it seriously interrupts the flow π Congrats on the nib! Author's Reply:
Thank you Andrea for reading and commenting. Ewan's advice has been taken. Weefatfella. expat on 30-09-2013 My Wee Pal Adam. I think this is the first non-humorous biographical piece of yours I've seen, Paul - it's touching and heart-warming at the same time. No crit on this one because the essence is more important than the mechanics. Steve Author's Reply:
Cheers Steve. Glad you enjoyed. Nice to hear from you again. Weefatfella. pommer on 30-09-2013 My Wee Pal Adam. A great moving write.I enjoyed reading it.Getting back gradually. be lucky, Pommer. Author's Reply:
Thanks for looking in pommer. Glad you're getting there. Weefatfella. Rab on 30-09-2013 My Wee Pal Adam. A lovely slice of life Paul, moving without being over-sentimentalised, loved the ending. You and Adam clearly have a great relationship. A great piece of writing. Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Rab for your encouraging comment. Yes, I feel we do have a special relationship. He's a wee corker. Weefatfella. amman on 01-10-2013 My Wee Pal Adam. Very moving, Paul with natural free-flowing expression. The love shines thru'. Cheers. Author's Reply:
Thanks Tony. I'm really pleased you enjoyed it. The wee boy's going to be under pressure shortly, Wee Sophie was born two And a half weeks ago. She is still in hospital but will be joining the family shortly. I know Adam will be her protector. Thanks again Tony. Weefatfella JackCrowe on 05-10-2013 My Wee Pal Adam. Loved it Paul, especially the all the heigh ho'ing. Great writing. Ian. Author's Reply:
Thank you Jack for your lovely comment. I'm tied up pretty tight just now with Grandfatherly duties. Will get round to some writing when wee Sophie my new grandaughter settles into her own home. Texasgreg on 23-10-2013 My Wee Pal Adam. Oh, this is such a wonderful slice of life and am sooo glad you wrote it for posterity, Paul. Adam really came to life for me through your words and the love you share is evident throughout. Don't you dare go anywhere for a long time! Greg π 
Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind words Greg. No I've no intentions of shuffling off quite yet. Incidentally Greg, here is something you once asked me for. |
| The Wardrobe. (posted on: 16-09-13) A strange and old piece of furniture. 
The Wardrobe..
The wardrobe stood in the corner. An evil faced monk with sharp eyes and holding a mandolin, guarded the ornately carved double doors. Gold facings in the shape of snakes surrounded the keyhole on each door. Two crowned heads sat atop each corner and glared at all who entered the bedroom. Four clawed feet held the closet off the floor; the talons had dug deeply into the floorboards and maintained the appearance of a hungry and desparate predator ready to strike.
The cabinet was black; its construction from old reclaimed oak wasn't the reason. The wardrobe was evil. Looking at the thing was difficult. If you looked straight at it, it shimmered mirage like, moving in and out of focus, one instant there, the next, just a shadow.
I was nine years old. I suffered from bronchitis, which forced me to sleep sitting up. My pillows, piled high, maintained my position. The old bed faced a long rectangular window. Corresponding but narrower windows latched against the cold October air bordered five narrow panes. A pair of red, heavy pleated curtains, which fell to the floor like saint's robes, in turn, framed these.
Lilies and reeds exploded fanlike from inside a fat, floral, two handed vase as it stood guard on the windowsill. To the left, a mounted King patrolled a weak fireplace. His companion knights, with battleaxes and shields linked, contained their fickle ally.
I carefully drew the crayon along the paper, highlighting and bringing the clown to life, as I did. A large bluebottle landed on the drawing book. Unthinking, I blew at the pest in an attempt to chase it away. It began walking along the wax line. I drew a deep breath and targeted the fly with a long drawn out blast of expelled air, in an effort to move it or frighten it.
I watched as the fly, shaking and shivering held on. The insect, in its own time, took flight and turned left towards the fireplace. It disappeared as it merged into a large swarm of spinning, buzzing, bluebottles.
The flowers on the windowsill had drooped over the vase and were lying with their dead heads on the sill. Icy leaf patterns manifested on the windowpanes as the cold, by degrees, rose up towards the ceiling. I jumped with fright as the mounted kings decapitated head, toppled to the floor with a loud clunk, before rattling like a spinning coin against the fireplaces raised border. The fire was out.
Black swirling vapour emanated slowly from the wardrobe, growing thicker as it consolidated. The hellish cape pulsed as it seeped through the open doors. A low, out of sync and out of tune drumbeat, filled the room. The sulphurous smelling mist began to rise from the floor. Two red spheres merged into evil glowing eyes that glared from deep chasms inside a black grinning skull. A long claw like hand with thinly stretched skin covering arthritic knuckles, grabbed at the blankets, the monster began to rise.
The apparition stood over six-foot tall. His black,flowing monk's habit, was held at the waist by a sword belt carrying an ornately carved scabbard. The engravings of demons and angels held out their hands as they pleaded for release. A thick white rope with black onyx beads terminating in an upside down crucifix, hung around his thin waist.
The long sword handle wrapped in black-latticed leather, protruded from the sheath. The white haired head of an angel with large open eyes and a long forked tongue, served as a pommel.
He leaned in towards me and stretched out his horrible hand. I slinked down trying to escape under the covers. Just as my chin slipped below the blanket, I felt his long claw touch my face. He mocked concern, as he 'lovingly' drew the back of his spindly fingers down my cheek, his head was so close to mine, I could feel his cold, waxy skin. His stinking breath came out in a swirling vortex as he said in a chilled whisper,
'' Suus parva adipem homo habens risum.''
I closed my eyes and slithered under the covers. I waited shaking with fear, I surfaced a few seconds later. The apparition had gone. The room was warmer. Rivulets of melted ice water were running down the window. The fire had come to life and was roaring and snapping in the fireplace. The mounted King's head sat firmly once again on his shoulders. I turned quickly in fright as the movement of the doors caught my eye. I stared transfixed as the two doors came together and closed with a soft, emphatic, click.
Copyright © Weefatfella. 2013.
Archived comments for The Wardrobe. Rupe on 16-09-2013 The Wardrobe. I've got to say that reading this is the first time I've actually felt glad that our wardrobes are from IKEA... Creepily atmospheric, although I had to use Googletranslate to get the Latin joke - nice touch there, if a bit obscure. Rupe Author's Reply:
Aye, I have hit a wall just now. Thankfully it's only waist high and I can pull some fruit from the tree. It started off as an account of a true story, then I went off at a tangent. Thank you for reading and commenting. Weefatfella. Rab on 16-09-2013 The Wardrobe. I really liked this Paul, you paint a good picture, very atmospheric. Like the joke too, after google translate had done its job (what did we do before?) Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Rab for your comments and very generous rating. I'm fair chuffed. Weefatfella. BigIan on 16-09-2013 The Wardrobe. Currently suffering from man flu, this did my digestive system no good! Terrifying! Manducare minus PLACENTA diurno Author's Reply:
I hope the man flu retreats soon Ian. Thank you for dropping in and for reading and more importantly commenting. Get Well Soon! Weefatfella. roger303 on 19-09-2013 The Wardrobe. A divergence from your norm WWF. It got better and better as it progressed. Very atmospheric - great descriptions "Lillies and leaves exploded fan-like from inside a fat, florid two-handed vase". I love alliteration. Good stuff! Thanks for posting it. Regards Roger Author's Reply:
Hi Roger, Just a wee experiment to keep my hand in.I'm pleased you got something from it. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 19-09-2013 The Wardrobe. I thought the Lizards were bad enough, now you bring us this horror! Brilliant WFF. Mike Author's Reply:
Hi Mike, I enjoy a wee ghosty noo and again. Hope to see you and Lesley soon. Weefatfella. stormwolf on 19-09-2013 The Wardrobe. I started to laugh when I saw the pic...I am used to getting a good belly laugh with your work...Then I read and found a different style. You seem to be able to tyurn your hand to anything. We will have you writing poetry before too long! π This reminded me of the horror stories I so loved growing up before we had all the plethora of horror everywhere. It really did 'shiver me timbers...' The descriptions were great and the feeling throughout one of increasing terror. Well done Wee Fats. Another gem and no mistake Alisonx Author's Reply:
Why thank you my dear. I hope there's no increasing terror over the weekend. And no hangovers. Well maybe just a wee one. Oh,thank you very much make it a whisky. Weefatfella. Lookin furrit tae it... Hope tae see yie soon Alison.x |
| Sunday Night In The Stuart Arms. (posted on: 09-09-13) The Banter. 
The Stuart Arms.
It was ten fifteen on Sunday night; the taxi was in for repair. I had an enforced Monday off and I fancied a wee bit of banter and a couple of pints to get me over. I strolled into the busy Stuart Arms. The pub had a richly varnished wooden floor with dark oak tables dotted all around. The comfortable but sturdy chairs had red velvet cushions and strong backs.
A large half moon oak bar held four copses of highly polished brass pumps advertising Guinness, Belhaven, and Tennents. The mirrored and uplit gantries reflected a formation of optics, holding a good mix of across the board whiskies and other spirits. The spotless bar counter displayed a range of middle of the road wines of various origins.
Lines of fridges on the floor were cooling every bottled beer imaginable. Geordie McTaggart, the owner, had great pride in his pub and woe betide anyone who broke his rules or caused ' bother' in his pride and joy.
The tall bar stools were fully occupied by half stewed punters who had been enjoying the company of friends and neighbours for most of the day. Two delightfully buxom barmaids, Elaine and Anne, assisted by Geordie himself, attended to the topers every need. With the following day being bank holiday Monday, the bar was busier than usual at this time of night.
The air hummed with the sound of conversation, which was broken now and again with loud laughter and the crack of pool balls. A huge flat telly, high in the corner, showing a challenger tank flying the insignia of the Royal Scots and firing in anger somewhere in the Gulf, went unnoticed. The world and its troubles could wait until tomorrow.
At the end of the bar, wee Cammy, looking the worse for wear, had flopped onto the counter and was holding an empty whisky glass. Speaking to Geordie, he offered.
'' How many doughnuts can you git oan the end ae yir tadger Geordie?''
Geordie looked wide-eyed at the wee plumber. He lifted his hands to his shaking head and said.
'' A cannae believe the crap cumin oot ae your mooth. You've hud yir ugly wee heid doon too many cludgies. Listen ya wee numpty, when A wiz your age the last thing a wanted oan the end ae ma tadger wiz a doughnut. Whit's this world cumin tae? It's fulla sexually deviant arsholes. There are men shaggin sheep, men humpin men, and women humpin women. Noo this perverted idiot's runnin aboot gittin aw excited looking in Greggs windaes. A gie up aw the fuckin-gither.''
He turned back to wee Cammy and while leaning on the bar right beside him; he spoke very slowly and clearly into the wee mans ear.
'' Cammy son, see if you put your wee ,tiny tadger oanny whare near ma pies, hoat or cauld, A promise yie, A'll cut the thing aff yie. Noo... Yir warned.''
Geordie leaned over and grabbed the sheet of peanuts hanging on a hook close to Cammy. He nodded his head to enforce his point and moved the nuts to the other side of the bar.
I nodded to my wee mate, who nodded back while spacing his thumb and index finger to show he wanted, 'a wee golden wan', as he called it. I spoke to Geordie.
'' Hi Geordie, howz it gawn?" I acknowledged the two barmaids in turn,"Anne, Elaine. ''
'' Fine Paul, whit yie huvin? Yir pal's in.''
'' Aye A see him Geordie, A pint ae heavy please and a double black boattle fur Stan.''
There was no point in getting Stan a single, it wouldn't have lasted long.
'' He usually has a big Whitbread wie his whisky Paul.''
'' Aye A know that Geordie, but that's two drinks, He's only goat wan mooth, so wan'll dae him the noo eh!''
'' Aye son, very good, this place has been crawlin wie perverts the night, and noo the comedians have jist walked in."
Smiling, I stubbed my cigarette out in the ashtray and picked up the drinks before carrying them to the table. At this time of night with inhibitions lowered, the tables and chairs now drawn together facilitated the banter. I gave Stan his whisky and while nodding and smiling to everyone, I settled in to the well-known assemblage.
Big Stevie strolled in, he got himself a pint and pulled a chair up to join the company. After several salutations from the extended squad, the big man stood up and began to pretend to be adjusting an imaginary tie, as though in celebration.
Neil asked.
'' Right ya big shite whit's aw that aboot? Whit huv you goat tae celebrate?''
The big guy shared his smile all around and answered.
'' A might be becoming a daddy again, Marilyn's pregnant.''
Neil smiled and lifted his tumbler; he drew deeply on his pint, after emptying the glass he banged it hard on the table for effect. He stood and placed his free hand on Stevie's shoulder.
''If Marilyn's pregnant big man, A can assure yie, it's no yours.''
Neil made his way to the bar for a refill.
''A pint ae heavy Geordie if yie don't mind pal.''
'' Aye nae bother Neil cumin up mate. Is that big Stevie sayin Marilyn's goat a bun in the oven?''
'' Aye Geordie, and he's sayin it's his wean... A know better.''
''Aye so dae A. If it is a bun she's goat in there, there's every chance it's wee Cammy's. Somebody needs tae huv a word wie him, He's goat a perversion fur pastry."
Neil, looking confused, answered,
'' Aye a will Geordie.''
Big Stevie called over.
''How dae you know who's wean it is? You're no psychic, are yie?''
'' Naw big man yi'r right A'm no, but me and Gloria, as you know, live next door tae Marilyn, and oor bedroom wall is right next tae hers. There must only be a coupla bricks and a wee bit ae plaster between us.''
'' Whit's that goat tae dae wie oanythin?''
'' Well, when you're in there Stevie, Yie can hear a pin drop, the wife and me, we sleep like wee babies
See when big Dougie's in there. There's a hootin and a hollerin, and a hammerin and a bangin. There's whoopin and jookin and laughin and greetin. Naw big man, it's big Dougie's wean, A can assure yie ae that.
Nature took its course and several months later the baby was born, he looked the spitting image of his father
Dougie.
Copyright © Weefatfella.
Archived comments for Sunday Night In The Stuart Arms. Ionicus on 09-09-2013 Sunday Night In The Stuart Arms. "There are men shaggin sheep, men humpin men, and women humpin women. Noo this perverted idiotβs runnin aboot gittin aw excited looking in Greggs windaes." and then there's Dougie "a hootin and a hollerin, and a hammerin and a bangin." Classic Paul. You have a way with words, no denying it. Cheers. Author's Reply: 
Ha! Cheers Luigi, I really appreciate you dropping into the prose section for a wee blether. Thank you indeed. Weefatfella. stormwolf on 10-09-2013 Sunday Night In The Stuart Arms. another WFF classic. Alison x Author's Reply:
Cheers Alison. Both for dropping into the prose section and for your amazing and generous rating... Chuffed!. Weefatfella. |
| Karma (posted on: 02-09-13) In Scotland, there are three different types of houses, in two different settings. Private houses in plots of land called Estates. Council houses, and bought by ex tenants and now called, ex council houses in schemes.  Private Estate.
Karma.
I looked out of the bedroom window. The world ended in a grey wet mist just above the rooftops. The taxi lay below the streetlamp; the mist was pilfering the light as it pulled and stretched it into a thin shroud which wrapped itself around the cab. I showered and breakfasted before stepping out below the veil.
The indicators flashed as I opened the doors to the hack. The engine fired up first time. I logged into the system and headed for Livingston. The mist had quickly cleared and the sun was a huge pink balloon sitting on the horizon. I worked away for a couple of hours doing the usual, taking people to work, to hospital, to wherever. All the normal bread and butter jobs. The day ticked away nicely.
My data-head came to life. I pressed lucky number eight and accepted the job. I knew this fare; it was Diana, an obnoxious, skinny wee wuman with a bad mouth and a worse attitude. She never had a good word to say about anyone. She used to regale me with gossip about her neighbours. How he was having an affair with her, how one neighbour was always getting visits from a guy in a hoodie.
" Drugs, nae doobt. "
How another's daughter regularly came home in the early hours with her knickers slung over her shoulder and her skirt half way up her arse.
I drew up outside her house and the door opened, Diana waved her heavily ringed fingers and smiled her toothless grin. I sneered back.
'' Hiya driver.''
''Hi Diana. Where are yie offtae?''
A'm goin tae the wee co-op alang the road. A'm needin stamps and an envelope. Oh aye, A'll huvtae ask yie tae stoap at the wee post boax in the 'Estate' on the way back, A huvtae post a wee letter.''
The way she said estate, brought the badness out in me. I'd been waiting on the chance to wind Diana up. It looked like the wait was over. I stopped the taxi outside the co-op and she wandered in. I waited. Diana came out carrying a plastic bag. The stamps and envelope clinked away as she climbed into the cab.
'' Right driver, that's me, jist mind and stoap at the post boax eh.''
I turned off the roundabout and into her estate.
'' Eh, whereabouts in the scheme is the wee post boax?''
'' Whit wiz that driver? Whit did yie say?''
'' A asked yie whereaboots in the scheme the wee post boax wiz?''
'' Scheme, fuckin scheme. This is an estate.''
I butted in.
'' Well if it's in a state Diana, Yie could get the Coonsil tae come and fix it.''
'' You're at the wind up. Ma brother stays in a scheme in Niddrie. A widnae hae ma wee dug stayin in a scheme. They're aw cowps; fulla junkies, alcoholics and hookers. Naw, there's no way yi'll git me back in a scheme, A can assure yie ae that mate.
Three months later, I was sitting outside Diana's house. Five, Glasgow, matching and biodegradable suitcases sitting outside on her new patio, proclaimed her downfall to the watching and twitching world. I helped her with the 'luggage'. She turned back and opened the door; leaning into the vestibule, she shouted.
'' A hope yie die in yir sleep ya horrible fat bastard. A never loved yie anyway, and yir shite in bed. Yir faither wiz much better at it than you. Oh, and yir mother wiz even better than him."
Diana closed the door, she opened it again and screamed.
" Yir sister's a durty hooer. Tell her A fuckin hate her tae.''
She threw the door at him. After climbing into the cab, she slumped down on the back seat, and sniffed; Diana wiped her long pointed nose and tucked her tissue into her sleeve. She looked at me through the mirror. I had never seen anyone so sad looking. Everything she had worked for over so many years had been lost. Her fancy house, her handsome husband, and at one time, I had no doubt; her good looks, all ultimately sacrificed for her addiction to wine.
'' Will yie take me tae Niddrie please driver. A'm sorry aboot aw the shoutin and that, but me and him's split up. A don't think yi'll see me aboot here oannymair.
As I was driving away, I looked in the rear view mirror. Diana was having a last lingering look at her former front door and her former life. She removed the tissue from her sleeve, and while sitting back in the cab, she held the white tissue to her nose as the tears, unchecked, rolled down her cheeks.
Copyright © Weefatfella.
Council Scheme.
.
Archived comments for Karma Mikeverdi on 02-09-2013 Karma Wow! This is a hard tale Paul, shows us a different side to the job. As a man with two divorces behind him I know what it's like to leave it all behind. Mike Author's Reply:
Aye, very true Mike. We see all aspects of life and all in the raw.Looking forward to a blether and a coupla jars with you and Lesley and Alison.. Weefatfella. amman on 02-09-2013 Karma Well written, Paul. A sad tale and ye canna help but feel sorry fer the auld biddy. Cheers. Tony. Author's Reply:
Thanks Tony. It's true even with all her faults she didn't deserve that. Thanks for looking in Tony Weefatfella. BigIan on 02-09-2013 Karma Been there, done that and carried my life in a couple of bin liners! I feel I know this wumman! Author's Reply:
Aye Ian haven't we all. The path of true love..etc Thanks for reading and commenting Ian. Weefatfella. Rab on 03-09-2013 Karma Nice story Paul, you managed to make me feel sympathy for Diana despite your demolition of her at the start of the story. Karma indeed. In Glasgow an ex council house is often called a 'bought house', or in Weedgie, a boat hoose, which confuses the hell out of anyone not from the city! Author's Reply:
Aye Rab, A'm Fae Wishae originally we hud boat hooses tae though A've never seen wan wie a set ae paddles. Thanks for popping in Rab. Nice tae see yie. Weefatfella. bethybob on 04-09-2013 Karma I really like this, especially the first paragraphs description and the phonetic spelling of the words. Been on both sides of this myself, grew up in a council estate then got accepted into a private school, so abuse from all sides. I love the message- is it a true story? bethybob Author's Reply:
Thank you for taking the time to read and more importantly to comment. No it's not a true story, it's a what if. There is such a person but she still lives in her nice wee private home and she is still a snob.She changes her excuse to go for her wine. I have never heard so many soft items; bread,newspapers, vegatables, etc. They all clink when she brings them into the cab Weefatfella. Ionicus on 05-09-2013 Karma β Well if itβs in a state Diana, Yie could get the Coonsil tae come and fix it.β Absolutely hilarious, Paul. And the insults that she hurled as she was leaving: β A hope yie die in yir sleep ya horrible fat bastard. A never loved yie anyway, and yir shite in bed. Yir faither wiz much better at it than you. Oh, and yir mother wiz even better than him." Classic. You always write good, entertaining tales and this is no exception. Author's Reply:
Cheers Luigi you're very kind. Thank you for your support mate. Weefatfella. Nomenklatura on 07-09-2013 Karma What a difference it makes when your work is presented cleanly. I've always liked the way you tell a yarn, but you are getting better at all aspects of writing every day. Hats off to you! Regards Ewan Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Ewan. I feel better about my work now that things are coming together. It's down to you all here at UKA and for that I am very grateful. Weefatfella. |
| Capitulation. (posted on: 26-08-13) Wee Bert drops his principles. 
Capitulation.
Bert leaned over and pressed the lucky number seven on his beeping data-head, accepting the job. He scrolled down, and after reading the details on the screen; he bounced his radio microphone off the dash. He screwed his already wrinkled face up, and yelled.
'' What the fackin ell's all that about?''
I looked over and pretended concern.
'' Aye, whit is it?''
'' Ow did I get that fackin job?''
He had been issued a job in Edinburgh city centre, coming through to Livingston, priced at twenty-seven pounds, which on paper, looks okay. That was the problem. It was on paper. It was a contract. Contracts are paid on a monthly basis with one month in lieu. It would be at least two months before he would be paid for the job.
He retrieved his microphone from the cab floor, while doing this, he moaned.
'' I'm not doin it. No fackin way. I'm not in Howden, that's the pulling area for Edinburgh, no, no, I'm definitely not doing it.''
He pressed the button to activate the voice and alert the controller to the fact that he wished to communicate with her. His radio came to life with the long, singsong, lazy drawl used by radio controllers worldwide,
'' Aj nine, go ahead please.''
'' Why have I been given that shitty job? You're supposed ta pull a car from Howden for Edinburgh. Why have you pulled me? I'm in Eliburn love, take the job back please, and issue it properly, to a cab in the proper place please. Will ya.''
He bounced the mike off the dash again, and with his bottom lip trembling, he said.
'' I'm definitely not doin it. I'm not running from here to Edinburgh just to suit the fackin office. When do them bastards ever suit me? No, it's against my principles I won't be made a fool of. I'm stickin to me guns this time. Fack-em.''
The radio came to life again. A very deep toned voice with the air of authority, said.
''Bert, I need that job covered. I asked the controller to pull you for this job Bert, because I want it covered as quickly as possible, okay.''
It was John Younger. The Boss.
Bert dropped his head to his chest and stretched one hand down to the floor in search of his microphone. While keeping his head down, the other hand stretched Christ-like towards the dash and started his engine. He answered very meekly.
'' I'm goin John, I'm goin
I'm on me way.''
His cab slowly turned off the rank. If Cabs had tails this one would have been very firmly tucked between its tyres.
Copyright © Weefatfella Archived comments for Capitulation. Corin on 26-08-2013 Capitulation. Hi WFF, Great dialogue and a great inside view of the Taxi business. The confrontation is set up beautifully and I was expecting an explosive climax and some kind of twist in the resolution, so having the boss come in and shout βJust Fucking do itβ seemed rather disappointing. Couldnβt there be a story behind the story. I donβt know - Prince William found drunk outside an Edinburgh Brothel and Bert is the only Royalist on the pay roll??? Dave Author's Reply:
Aye David that's maybe somethin I could work on. It would be more like ha hadn't paid his cab-fare and promised the crown jewels in recompense. Now there's a tale. Thanks for dropping by. Hope to see you soon David. Weefatfella. BigIan on 26-08-2013 Capitulation. Is this Bert who plays golf? I sense a connection....? Author's Reply:
The very Cheeky Chappie. The same guy who removes cap and shoves up bottom. Weefatfella. Rab on 28-08-2013 Capitulation. Liked the dialogue, Paul, and it had the ring of truth about it. A capitulation much like most of us wage slaves have to commit from time to time... Author's Reply:
Very true Rab , but you've still goat tae rip the knittin when yie git a chance. Thank you for your valued comments mate. Weefatfella. |
| Auld Joe. (posted on: 26-08-13) My father was an amazing man. That's just it,..he was. 
Auld Joe.
I walked into Girdwoods Bar in Wishaw for a wee blether and a look, at ma auld Da's face. He was sitting as usual at the corner of his bar with a large whisky in front of him. He was smiling and talking, you couldn't stop him, my father didn't have conversations, he held court. His left hand always held an ash laden, smoking cigarette. He was wearing his dark green suit, with a pristine white shirt and bow tie. His brown brogues, highly polished, sat below fluorescent lime green socks. The socks were my mother's way of getting her own back on her chauvinistic husband.
I could just imagine the pair of them that morning when my dad was bending to put them on.
'' Eh, they're awffie bright Cathy. Are yie sure these socks will go wie ma green suit? ''
''Joe, They're green, the suits green, whit's yir problem? ''
'' Aye, well fair enough.''
His underwear was legendary; no one had ever seen it. He never changed it, and we never saw it on the washing line. Auld Joe's drawers were an enigma that was never resolved. His vest, secreted below the very white shirt, was covered in stains from his meals and was one day away from being a full breakfast.
Ma Da had HIS chair in the house. Anyone could sit on it if he was out. If my father came home however, and someone had the audacity to be sitting there, he would walk towards the miscreant, and while waving him or her out, he would say,
''cumoan, swap yie seats. ''
It was a large fabric covered armchair, with wings at the top for resting the head. Joe used to say,
'' Never buy a chair withoot wee wings oan it fur drappin yir weary heid intae. They're a great wee bonus fur a hard working man.''
Auld Joe was sitting in this chair in the early morning, wearing his white shirt from the day before. With the shirt open to the waist, revealing his vociferous vest or semmit as he called it, which was tucked into his industrious undergarments. The open zip on his fly, had a permanently shocked look, and never closed its jaws, this, thankfully, helped with ventilation.
His left hand hung over the arm of the chair bleeding fag ash. The charred carpet beside his throne was witness to this. A copy of the Observer newspaper folded at the crossword, lay across his lap. Jagged, tiny holes from tobacco burns covered his shiny blue trousers, which terminated in bare feet. His right big toe nail was a black, ridged and armoured claw, a result of him dropping a drain cover on it as a boy.
His varifocals were always perched precariously on his large, wedged shaped, and hooked nose. At his feet, sleeping, but always alert, lay Charlie, his wee King Charles spaniel.
Auld Joe was in this position, when my sister, with a white towel wrapped round her head came into the living room on her way to the kitchen.
'' Oh, morning hen, how are yie.''
'' Morning father I'm fine. How are you this morning? You're up early?''
'' Aye, I've always been an early riser. Are you jist oot the shower? wie that towel wrapped roond yir heid there.''
'' Yes dad I am. Why?''
'' How dae you women dae that wie the towel? It's the same wie elastic bands. Gie a wuman wie hair ae oanny length, an elastic band, and wie a flick ae her fingers she's goat her hair in a perfect ponytail. It's always amazed me that... Oh aye, the waters freezing. How did yie manage tae shower in cauld water Hen?''
'' It's a power shower dad.''
'' A power shower, whit's that when it's at hame?"
'' It heats its own water as yie use it dad. Yie don't need tae huv hot water. Huv you never used it?''
'' Naw ''
There was no bath in the house and the shower had been fitted two years previously.
Auld Joe didn't have a problem with personal hygiene, as would be supposed by the undiscerning. Joe was from a very large family; eleven brothers and seven sisters, gaining entry to the bathroom would have been almost impossible for one of the younger brothers. My father would stand at the sink and wash everywhere, using a bar of carbolic soap if he could get it. Most folk have a face cloth. Dad had a body cloth.
After dressing, Joe would put his dug jaiket on. This was a green wax jacket with pockets deep enough to hold dog biscuits, or saliva soaked, half chewed sticks. He would shove the wee dog into the passenger seat of his wee grey mini-van. After rolling the window down for Charlie, they would both head to Gresham House, via the 'Paki's' shop for 'treasure'.
After Charlie had had enough of chasing sticks and running after enticing animal trails, and dad had planked his treasure. They would return in the van and go round the family homes picking up his thirteen grandchildren.
At Gresham House, the sound of excited children and one very excited King Charles, bloomed along with the flowers. My father walked behind the eight girls and five boys as they gambolled like young lambs along the path. He would point to a bush or tree and say.
'' I think that's a Mars bar tree over there."
The girls screamed, the dog barked and the older boys self-consciously slouched and rolled their eyes as they walked towards the chosen tree. The first to find the bounteous carrier bag distributed the goodies and the walk continued, for the girls, to the fairy ring, and for the boys, past the eight hundred year old Covenanter tree planted by David King of Scots, to the dungeons and dogs graveyard outside the old Carbarns cemetery.
The kids returned home exercised, and educated with the names of the wild flowers in bloom that day. They would also have found out who was the fastest girl and who was the bravest boy.
Auld Joe, his duty done, would change into his impeccable green suit, his very white shirt (hiding his semmit) with his green bowtie and shiny brogues. He would call a taxi and make his way to his pub, Girdwoods Bar, where he would sit in the corner on HIS barstool
*
In view of the amazing and humbling comments posted here I felt it only right that I should post a picture of the Aforesaid Auld Gentlman, My Auld Dad Joe. Here he is with the equally revered Auld Wuman Me Mother Cathy. xxx
Archived comments for Auld Joe. Mikeverdi on 26-08-2013 Auld Joe. Mate, that's bloody marvelous, I think your Dad and mine would have had a lot to say to each other; that is if they could have understood each other π Your descriptions of everyday things turn them into unforgettable reading. Mike Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike. For your very pleasing comments and amazingly generous rating. I'm chuffed tae Falkirk. My Dad had a lot to say to everybody. He was in Mauritius visiting family and wherever he went he took over. He was sharing a table with maybe twelve or thirteen people and the old Minister who was attending felt his nose put out, cause Auld Joe was hogging the conversation as usual. He thought he would put my father down by bringing up his bad habits . He said to auld Joe, " Joseph, you drink rather a lot of whisky, and you use colourful language and I haven't seen you without a cigarette in your mouth all night. Joe came back with " Aye Reverend They're my sins. what's yours? Aye he was an auld bugger right enough. Thanks again Mike for your support. Hope to see you at the bar in the comfort. Weefatfella. pommer on 26-08-2013 Auld Joe. A masterpiece as usual. I agree with Auld Joe about the winged chair.I always have to have one like that.He is a man after my own heart.He was indeed a busy man.Great stuff WFF.I am watching the tattoo as usual on TV tonight,Being a sucker for the pipes and drums.Be lucky, Pommer. Author's Reply:
Thanks P. Aye he loved his chair, and is grandchildren Enjoy the tattoo pommer. Thanks for your kind words mate. Weefatfella. franciman on 26-08-2013 Auld Joe. Written with love Paul. It's in the wistful nature of the piece and the care and attention given to its construction. The test, I suppose, is in the way it makes each reader see his own Dad. I surely did. cheers, Jim Author's Reply:
Jim I am speechless. For me that doesn't happen very often, as you can imagine. I am totally humbled by your reaction to this piece. I thank you very much indeed for your lovely comments and for taking this into your favourites. Paul H. Weefatfella. BigIan on 26-08-2013 Auld Joe. Too close to home for me! Author's Reply:
Cheers Ian. Weefatfella. Romany on 27-08-2013 Auld Joe. Sounds like quite a character! Great read (as the award suggests!) Author's Reply:
Thank you Romany for you very kind comment. He was quite a character. Weefatfella. stormwolf on 27-08-2013 Auld Joe. Has me sitting here with tears in my eyes. I think you are a fantastic writer. You capture SO much in your writing that it's just heart-warming to read.:-) At the risk of coming over all emotional ;-0 I have to say that your writing shows a depth of love, understanding and insight not to mention a tenderness. It's funny, sad, poignant and touches the reader. No wonder you are among my very fav writers here. Allow me to nominate it Alison x Author's Reply:
Alison , what can I say? Thank you very much indeed for your humbling comments. Again thank you Alison, for the amazing nomination and your fantastic rating, sniff! Weefatfella.xx amman on 27-08-2013 Auld Joe. Hi Paul. I love the wistful, warm-hearted nature of this. Your dad was so obviously his own man and a real character. Reckon he passed down some of his genes to your good self. An excellent write. Cheers. Tony. Author's Reply:
Thank you Tony. My dad was indeed his own man. He, after being unfairly dismissed from his job at Ravenscraig Steelworks, when the Union had told him to forget court action. My father fought the case himself. After eighteen months of courts and more courts. he won the appeal in the court of session. He was awarded a substantial sum and thus began his Publican career. I have seen no evidence of his genes apart from I'm very nearly his double, but then maybe I'm looking too closely. Thank you again Tony. Weefatfella. barenib on 27-08-2013 Auld Joe. Very entertaining and well written. I'm usually found in the poetry section, but I'm pleased to have read this - excellent stuff, John. Author's Reply:
John, thank you very much indeed for dropping by. I'm very pleased you weren't disappointed. Weefatfella OldPeculier on 27-08-2013 Auld Joe. Another cracker. There is something totally honest in your style that makes it so readable. Author's Reply:
That's a fantastic thing to say OP. If there is one thing I admire it's honesty. Thank you very much for your lovely comments. Weefatfella. Ionicus on 27-08-2013 Auld Joe. I have once again strayed into the prose section lured by the name 'Weefatfella'. How could I resist when your writing is so fascinating? This is another gem to enjoy, Paul. Well done. Author's Reply:
ciao Luigi,Sono umiliato dai vostri commenti il mio amico vi ringrazio molto. Weefatfella. JackCrowe on 28-08-2013 Auld Joe. That's terrific Fella. And yea, a great read. Your writing continues to inspire me. Author's Reply:
Cheers Jack. I'm really chuffed you enjoy my tales. Weefatfella. Nemo on 28-08-2013 Auld Joe. Bloody marvelous! Like other people have said, this story brings back memories of our own fathers and we get sad. My father was a quiet, withdrawn man. I missed out not having a character like your father's in my life, or even knowing one as big-hearted as yours. Enough of that, I really enjoyed this, the description, the humour and the humanity. Thanks, Gerald Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Gerald, for your amazing comment and surprisingly generous rating. I can only imagine I am riding on the coattails of others memories of their late fathers. I'm pleased however that people find something worthwhile here. Also that they may have felt while reading, to feel a wee bit closer to their father... For a wee while anyway. I certainly did when writing the piece. Paul H. Weefatfella. TheBigBadG on 29-08-2013 Auld Joe. I think the thing is that you have a natural handle on vernacular, dialogue and those snippets that bring people to life. They're things some of us here have to work at to make it look so natural. Perhaps a result of all that time in the cab? I have this feeling that you're a natural raconteur, in fact, and that maybe you've got some of your dad in you... Author's Reply:
I know you're right here.It's not just the cab thing I always had the knack. I just wish my writing was better? Thank you for dropping by G. Weefatfella. Pronto on 29-08-2013 Auld Joe. Very real and entertaining as usual WFF I felt as if I'd met him from this superb descriptive write. Well done sir! Author's Reply:
Thanks Pronto. Your remarks are encouraging and supportive. Weefatfella. Weefatfella on 29-08-2013 Auld Joe. 
Thank you everyone who commented on this piece. I have been totally amazed by all the kind and encouraging comments. I thank all of UKA not just for these comments, but also for the support and encouragement in all the attempts I have made up to now. I know Auld Joe would have been very pleased and proud. Thank You UKA. Paul H. Weefatfella.
Author's Reply: mageorge on 29-08-2013 Auld Joe. Encouraging, an inspiration...I wondered why it was that i got into prose. (in a minor way of course) Paul, you have given me the answer! Kindest regards, Mark. Author's Reply:
Cheers Mark. I'm really loving all the attention here though!!! Weefatfella. Andrea on 29-08-2013 Auld Joe. Well, WFF, you know what I think of your writing and story-telling ability π Author's Reply:
Why Thank You Madame, from my bottom, of course. Weefatfella. bluepootle on 30-08-2013 Auld Joe. What a great series of snapshots of your Dad. It makes me feel like I know him a little bit. A lovely read. Author's Reply:
Why thank you Madam. I feel really honoured with all the attention for this. Thank you very much for your kind words bluepootle. Weefatfella. |
| A Common Victory. (posted on: 12-08-13) In Battle, All men Are Equal. 
A Common Victory.
" Son, will yie rise?"
Dougie kicked his son's feet. He was lying wrapped in his plaid. His cheek was resting on his pike, and his arms cradled and comforted the weapon. His cheek,moved lovingly and slowly up and down,caressing the hard wood as he slept.
Dougie kicked him again.
'' Son, will yie rise?''
Donald opened his eyes and stared for a second, recognising his father, he rolled onto one knee, and using the pike, he climbed unsteadily to his feet. He bent down and lifted his targe. He swung the shield on its leather strap round and onto his back. While retying his nine yards of plaid, he said,
''Aye faither, guid morning. It's early is it no? I could have slept on there. I was in the long grass with Marjory Scrogie. She was just making herself available to me when you woke me. She's an enticing girl Marjory, and I've thought of her on many a cold night. There was no reason to ask me to rise father
I already had."
Dougie, shaking his head and smiling, squeezed Donald on the shoulder,saying.
'' Cumoan son, let's see if we can find breakfast somewhere.''
After suffering curses by not quite stepping over sleeping bodies, they left the bell-tent. The sun hadn't quite risen and it was a liquid light. Their noses took them through the busy camp to a larger square tent with the three white stars flying, proclaiming it to belong to the Earl of Douglas. Men sitting on logs and large boulders surrounded the food tent. A few stood, but most importantly all were chewing.
A fire was warming a large black kettle. Hanging from a rail above the long fire, were pots of various sizes holding something that looked like fish stew. The two men approached the tent. They nodded to the men they knew and said hello to the ones they knew better. The fat cook, chewing, was standing at a range dropping vegetables into a large pot with one hand, while stirring with the other. A young woman of about twenty was scraping the vegetables beside him.
''Aye, morning Callum, said Dougie." Is the bread there available fur twa hungry men about tae go tae war?''
Saying nothing, the cook patted the girl on the buttocks and nodded towards the pile of black bread behind him. She completely ignored him and continued scraping the veg.
'' A think yie better eat some ae that bread yirsell man, fur yir in a full scale battle in there by the looks ae it."
The cook turned round and grabbed two large chunks of the bread, which he threw at the two men saying,
'' Here, huv these, yi'll need the strength fae this, but don't worry aboot me Dougie, A'll soart her afore the day's oot.''
The girl looked him up and down, and with a twinkle in her green eyes she smiled a wicked smile and said,
'' If yie wurnae sae busy hand rearin yir ain meat, yie wid hae mair time fur the real thing. If yie know whit A mean.''
'' Aye Callum the lassie kens yie weell enough,diz she no?''
The cook swung a backhander at the young woman, which she easily avoided.
Dougie took the bread and handed a chunk to Donald, he reached inside his plaid and pulled out a small wooden bowl; he dipped the bowl into one of the pots and filled it with the thick spicy stew. Donald, with his own bowl, followed suit. The two men balancing food and pikes walked over to a small tuft of reeds and sat down to eat.
'' Whit's gonnae happen the day faither? Huv yie oany idea at all?''
'' A wid love tae gie yie a wee bit ae hope son and tell yie that they'll huv a parley and come tae some soart ae deal, but the signs are aw wrang here son. Good king Robert has his back tae the wall Donald. He stabbed the Red Comyn on sacred ground at Greyfriars in Dumfries. That gave him nae option but to take the crown of Scotland.
We'll huvtae fight the day son. The English huvnae come aw this way tae blether. They hud their party last night. Did yie no hear them singin and hollerin abuse at us?''
'' Aye, and some ae the men were sayin they were firin flamin arrows intae the air through the night. It's jist tae intimidate. Whit is it yie mean by hope faither? A'm looking fur a fight the day. A'd love tae git ma hauns roon wan ae thae Englishmen's throats A wi
''
Dougie put his hand on his son's back to quieten him, he said.
''Wheesht Donald, wid yie listen tae yirsell? Never mind cloudin yir thoughts wie stupid ideas ae glory. Or some misguided need fur revenge. We huvnae goat time fur that son. We huvtae survive the day. That's oor plan, and nuthin else. Promise me Donald. Yi'll dae whitever the Lairds man tells yie. Keep close tae me if yie can.You watch ma back and A'll watch yours. Nuthin else matters. We will survive no matter whit, and maybe one day the lovely Marjory will get her field ploughed. Noo cumoan,finish yir meal and we'll head back.''
They walked back the way they had come and were soon met by Jamie Cliffton, master at arms for the Douglas Clan. He was a short stocky man with a ready smile and a sharp wit. He spotted them immediately.
'' Oh were you two just away fur a wee stroll? It's a lovely morning for it. Or huv yiz been up tae Balquhiderock fur breakfast and a wee blether wae the King ae England. They tell me he's a passionate man, and has an eye fur a man in a skirt.''
'' Naw Jamie, we were hidin ahint the supply tent makin a noise like a lettuce tryin tae catch a rabbit.''
'' Aw is that right, well git yir erses doon tae the quartermaster and git a handaxe each. Bring them tae me at the edge ae the woods yonder, and I'll test the axes oan yir heids and we'll see whit other noises yiz can make. Noo run, we huvnae goat much time. We're movin oot very shortly tae have a parley wae yir wee pal Eddie.''
Half an hour later with the string of a handaxe wrapped round their wrists, they were both lined up in phalanx, facing Balquhidderock wood. Dougie looked to his left, the sun was rising behind a large group of men walking towards them. Two standards were being carried to either side of the tall man walking confidently at the front. He was wearing heavy black chain mail. With a white surcoat emblazoned with the red lion rampant of Scotland. He had a gold crown surrounding a heavy black conical helmet with sidebars. Black plate armour covered his legs. He was carrying a large targe with the lion rampant on the face. In his hands he comfortably held a wicked looking battleaxe.
To his right hand side walked their leige lord, The Guid Sir James Douglas, carrying the Scottish Saltire. To his left was, Earl Randolph Moray,holding aloft the Royal Standard Of Scotland, The Red Lion Rampant. Behind, came squires and retainers carrying shields and replacement weapons in case the king should lose one in battle.
As the royal party approached the pikemen began to kneel. The King handed his shield and axe to his squire and in a loud and strong voice he called out.
'' On your feet men of Scotland, no Scots will be bending their knees to anyone on this day. On this day men of Scotland, we fight. It is not for glory we fight; It is not for goods or landed estates we fight. We fight today for Scotland. For our grandchildren and their grandchildren.''
As he gave this talk, the king walked backwards and forwards along the line. Squires ran along the front ranks repeating his message to those who couldn't hear.
'' To allow them to live in freedom, peacefully and in comfort. To live amongst the beauty and bounty of this.. Our Scotland. Our children's Scotland. These English would deny us this. Let's send them back to their flat, boring land, with a scar to remember us by, and an eye over their shoulder.''
The men began to roar, but Bruce held his finger to his lips and his hand up for silence.
''Wheesht, we do this silently. We'll slip down from this plateaux to the Carse below and sneak up to where the two burns meet at New park. We Will, crush the English there. Follow me men of Scotland.''
His squire handed him his battleaxe and targe. Robert, by the grace of God, King of Scots, turned his back on his army, and walked alone, into the trees.
Jamie Clifton, master at arms, looking impressive in his helmet and breastplate, held his gauntleted arm up to attract the attention of his men. He faced them while calling.
'' Right lads, lower yir pikes. As yie enter the wood, trail yir weapon ahint yie as though yie were leadin an unfortunate wee lassie by the hand intae yir warm bed. She'll be disappointed as usual, but yie can tell her aboot the time yie shoved yir pole up an Englishman's arse at Bannockburn. Careful now, it's dark and the hill is steep.''
Donald, smiling, looked over and caught the eyes of his father. Dougie, three ranks to his right nodded his head and smiled nervously back.
They stepped into darkness. The tight packed trees and shrubs made the slope almost impossible to navigate. Tufts of wild grass and long trailing vines snagged their feet and threatened to trip the men as they kicked and stomped their way down. Dougie jumped with fright as a young boar broke cover and screamed as it fled from the invading host. The noise was mixed with the curses of men, as they lost their footing on the steep slope. Sharp brambles and whipping branches assaulted the army as they forced their way through. The close, humid air, filled with the sweet musky odour of vegetation as the feet of the host stirred the forest floor. Biting and stinging insects buzzed around, highlighted by sharp, bright lances of light bursting from the leaf canopy far above.
The host endured, and by degrees they reached the bottom and stepped onto the long yellowing grass of the Carse. They were instructed to dress off and to fill the expanse of the plain. In silence they formed into three long lines of five thousand, one to the left at the edge of the Bannock burn, the central formation slightly behind, and the third on the banks of the Pelstream, forming a pincer.
Robert the Bruce, King of Scots, stood exposed in the centre with James Douglas and The Earl of Moray. Two well-built, hardy squires were standing to either side of the King holding large kite shields. These were to deflect any arrows fired by the English bowmen at the Scottish monarch. The hand picked youths were wearing light armour and Scottish hand and a half bastard long swords, for the Kings protection, if required. The Guid Sir James and Thomas Randolph Moray, the Bruce's nephew, holding pikes, departed for their positions, leaving the King with his two squires.
The King, holding a pike of his own, raised his arm and waved the host silently forward. As one, with pikes pointing outward showing a bristling jagged front, the army of Scotland, marched towards a force with superior arms, heavy cavalry and four times their number.
Dougie's back was feeling the strain of holding the long pike outwards. It was only just beginning and already he was struggling. The sounds of heavy breathing and the squeak of leather against metal was all around him. He could see the camp of the English directly ahead. Fires blazed and tent pennons with the three lions of England fluttered in the breeze. The silhouettes of English men at arms could be seen warming themselves at the fires. Horses were grazing lazily on long tethers tied to slip lines.
The English in their arrogance didn't expect the Scot's to have the gall to attack such a large force. The back of the King, fifty yards directly in front of him exuded confidence, as he strolled purposefully towards the English camp. Bruce knew he couldn't beat the enemy in a pitched battle. He was also aware he had much less men, but he knew the English, and the way they thought and fought. They were here for what they believed was a foxhunt. They assumed the Scott's would run before their massive force of cavalry. Bruce was already in the act of nullifying that cavalry. Edward's army had camped on the New Park; a flat plain surrounded by two burns, the Bannock, and the Pelstream.
The King was camped on a Knoll near the back of the plain, high enough to enable the monarch to view the slaughter of the Scot's when ever he decided to begin his foxhunt. The Scottish army marched closer to their camp. Unbelievably, especially to Bruce, unhindered. They stopped at the narrowest part of the field, between the banks of the Pelstream, which over the centuries had gouged out a deep gorge, sixty feet wide and twenty feet deep, and Halberts Bog, a place, full of soft, quick mud, and deep hidden pools. The bog was a treacherous place, especially for men on horseback.
Donald halted at the signal and began to dig a furrow to hold his pike. He placed the butt of the pike in the hollow and slid forward a few feet along the pikeshaft to enable him to guide the weapon with more accuracy in the event of an English cavalry charge. He looked for his father. Dougie was standing to his right holding his pike and looking calm.
'' Faither, here, over here.''
Dougie turned and looking at his only son, he smiled and said.
'' How are yie son are yie okay?''
'' I'm fine faither. This stick seems tae be a guid yin. If a staun ahint this and wave it aboot aw dangerously and menacingly, it should see me through the day.''
The man next to Dougie tapped his shoulder and smiling and nodding he swapped places with him and the next man nodded and swapped also. Dougie thanked the men and soon he was standing next to his son. They embraced and stood back to back.
'' Aye faither you watch ma back and a'll watch yours.''
'' Aye, this'll soon be over Donald, jist take everythin wan thing at a time and keep yir heid oan. ''
A shout went out and they both turned. An English Knight, alone and on horseback was attacking. He galloped towards the front line swinging his longsword high in the air. He was shouting an illegible warcry as he bore down
on Dougie.
'' Faither, you take the horse, and A'll take him.''
Dougie bent his knees and held tightly to his pike. The noise of the huge Destrier's hooves got louder as it thundered towards him. The earth was being chewed up and flung high behind the galloping horse. The Knight's face was contorted in rage and he was screaming. Saliva was running along his cheeks and his arm was solidly pointing his sword at Dougie's chest. Everything slowed as if the world had stalled. Dougie with his whole body shaking, lined the pike up with the horses chest armour. At the last minute he raised the point.
The pole entered the throat of the horse. Blood and skin came flying from the animal, the pike bent, then snapped with a loud crack. The horse screamed and skidded into the packed men, cutting them down and dragging them along the ground. Its legs kicked and its head with the broken spear sticking out of its throat bucked and lolled. Air and blood was forced noisily from the dying horse's flared nostrils. Its head came to rest heavily on Dougie's chest, pinning him solidly to the ground. The animal panted and snorted before quickly expiring. Dougie looked up to see the knight unharmed, rising to his feet.
He stepped forward and lifted his sword high, with both hands, he began to swing. The sun flashed off the highly polished silvery blade as the knight began his downward, killing stroke. The mans neck suddenly bulged, his eyes glazed over and he dropped the sword as a sharp spearhead was forced beneath the back of his helmet and out through his throat, killing him instantly. A wave of scarlet covered Dougie's face. Gilbert De Clare 8th Earl of Gloucester and cousin to the King of Scots, crumpled, as his legs gave way; he fell in a heap to the earth. Killed by a twenty five year old ploughman from Lanark. Dougie wiped his face and opened his eyes to see Donald bend down and say,
'' Are yie okay faither? Yir covered in blood. A'll git yie oot fae under this wee hoarse's heid and well see how yie are. Ach yir covered in blood right enough, but thankfully its no yours.''
Donald playfully kicked his father, and holding his hand towards him, he said.
'' Faither, will yie rise.''
Archived comments for A Common Victory. ValDohren on 12-08-2013 A Common Victory. Part One. All men (and women) are equal, battle or otherwise WFF - great video, love to hear the bagpipes, love Scotland. Great story. Val Author's Reply: 
Hi Val Thank you for dropping by. I am referring to class not gender here. This is part one, in this, as far as I know, true story. An Earl is seen to be killed by a commoner. *********************************************************************** In the final of the Westlothiana Inheritance, Because of your mention of the word F****n. I tried to be more Poetic. I hope you'll take the time to let me know what you think. Sorry Val, I'm a pain I know. Weefatfella.XX orangedream on 12-08-2013 A Common Victory. Part One. As Val says, great story, and the bagpipes set it off a treat;-) Tina Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Tina. My daughter met the author of a book about the battle of Bannockburn. ' The Genius Of Bannockburn by William Scott' He gave her a signed copy for me. The book gave me the idea for this story. Thank you for your comment. Aye, The pipes'll set oannythin aff . Weefatfella. Rab on 12-08-2013 A Common Victory. Part One. Great story Paul, and well told. Particularly like the dialogue betwen father and son, the mix of courseness and tenderness. Are you thinking of extending it? Author's Reply:
Like everything I do Rab, I get an idea and take it as far as it goes. The story often takes over. This was inspired by the book I was given. ( The genius of Bannockburn by William Scott) There is a piece there about the death of The Earl of Gloucester, I would like to bring this into the tale and see where it leads. Thank you for taking the time to read and more importantly, to help with your comments. I really appreciate it. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 13-08-2013 A Common Victory. Part One. Hello Paul, I don't know where you find the time; all these different stories π Great descriptive writing here, the dialog between the participants is well thought out. I like the care taken by the father to calm his son before the coming battle; it all felt real to me. Looking forwards to the next chapter...its all set up! Author's Reply:
Thanks again Mike. I sit in the taxi and in between hires I scribble away in my notebook. I erase more than I keep though. I hope you do enjoy the next chapter,it's giving me headaches. Weefatfella. franciman on 13-08-2013 A Common Victory. Part One. Hi Paul, Great story and loved the balance between coarse and gentle. Really believable characters these. you'll know by now that I'm the pedantic sort? It was Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray- nephew to The Bruce; and Sir James was a Lord of Parliament but not an Earl.. Neither of these distinctions changes the fact that tis is a great read. I want to read more. cheers, Jim Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Jim. I'm working very hard on the second part as we speak. It's giving me a headache. It's so easy to wander away from the narrative and to generalise, but I want to do this right. It's more of a Nigel Tranter if you'll forgive me, than a John Prebble. I wanted to promote Douglas, in case at some point I could use the Black Douglas for effect. I'm fair chuffed you're enjoying the tale. I was inspired by a gift from an aid to the author of 'The Genius of Bannockburn, by William Scott.' An enjoyable if somewhat sour rant against historians. He makes a good claim to the truth of the famouse battle and well worth a read. Thank you once again Jim, for your wonderful comments and for taking me onto the anthology. Weefatfella. Pronto on 15-08-2013 A Common Victory. Part One. A great story well told WFF you had the Scottish half of my blood wrestling with the English half! Can't wait for the next chapter. Author's Reply:
Thanks P for your wonderful comment. Weefatfella. OldPeculier on 15-08-2013 A Common Victory. Part One. Very good with believable players. Looking forward to the next part. Author's Reply:
Thanks OP. For your support and for dropping by. Weefatfella. |
| No Water. (posted on: 26-04-13) Mel Gibson visits Glasgow. 
No Water.
Auld Joe ran the edge of the knife along the steel, expertly sharpening it from base to tip. He did this very quickly. It was reminiscent of some African tribal dance manoeuvre, accompanied by the click, sweep, and click, as the edge, scraping along the harder metal of the steel, was sharpened. He moved the blade along the hone, ending in an arc. As he followed perfectly, the shape of the knife-edge, he smiled serenely. Every time I saw my father go through this ritual, I always wanted to ask him to teach me how. He would finish with a flourish, before presenting the knife to the carcass.
He was doing this, one Monday morning in the back of his butcher shop in Pollockshields, when Robert, his assistant, rushed excitedly in from the front shop.
" Joe, Joe, yi'll huvtae come through tae the front shoap, Mel Gibson hus jist walked in, honest Joe, Mel bliddy Gibson."
" Who?"
" Mel Gibson Joe."
"Who the hell is Mel Gibson? - Dae wie owe him any money?"
" Naw, He's a famous Hollywood actor and film director."
" Never heard ae the bastard,"
" Huv yie heard ae Tony Curtis Joe?"
" Everybody's heard ae Tony Curtis son."
" Well he's Tony Curtis, ---the day."
" A better come and see whit this is aw aboot."
My father went through to meet Mel Gibson. Standing bold, as you like, was the short man himself. His mid-evil weapons trainer, who had a gym locally, and had been coaching him in the use of the battle-axe and mace, accompanied him. They had worked long into the night, and Mr Gibson had been treated to Scottish square sliced sausage and eggs for breakfast. Mel had enjoyed the sausage so much; he wanted to take some home to his family.
" Have you a vacuum packing machine sir?"
" Aye son A huv. How much sausage dae yie want."
Mr Gibson bought two full lengths of Lorne, or square sliced sausage, and after giving Robert a signed photograph of himself as Mad Max, he graciously autographed a sheet of greaseproof paper, which later with the photo, was framed, and put on the wall behind the counter. Robert eventually put it on a hook for easy removal, as my father told everybody that Hollywood star Mel Gibson, was on his mailing list, for the best-sliced sausage in Scotland.
My father was an amazing character, and wherever Joe was, things could always take a turn into the mad world he inhabited. The following Monday morning proved this to be true, as all Hell broke loose. Joe put two steak-pie dishes into the steaming hot water in the large stainless steel sink. He turned on the cold-water tap to cool it, no water came out.
" Robert, whit's happened tae the water son?"
" Whit's that yir sayin Joe? "
" The water Robert, there's nae cold water. Away and find oot, whit the bliddy hellsfire, is goin on, wie the bliddy cauld water. Fur oany fuckin favour.''
" Right, right, haud oan tae yir emotions Joe A'm goin."
Robert walked outside. Being an intelligent guy, he looked on the main road outside the shop for any possible clues. Sitting parked, right next to the butcher shop, was a plumbers van. He looked around for further hints to solve his dilemma. Auld Joe was a nightmare if things were not going his way. A bucket was holding the door to the flats above the shop slightly ajar. Robert followed the clue.
He climbed the stone stairs to the third floor. Hanging out of an open door, was a length of copper piping. Robert chapped the door and called.
" Hello, hello there, anybody about?"
A guy wearing a woolly cardigan and corduroy trousers appeared at the end of the lobby.
" Aye can a help yie?"
" Aye, A think so mate, Is it you that's goat the water turned aff?"
" Aye son, A'm gittin a new shower fitted, the plumber says the water will be aff fur two, or maybe three hours. Why, is it causin yie a problem?"
" Well that depends oan yir perspective mate. See A work doonstairs in the wee butcher shoap, The guy that owns the shoap, ma boss, is a wee bit no right. "
Robert tapped his temple with his finger and continued, " He's goin aff his nut already cause the water's aff, and A really don't want tae go back doon there wie the water, still aff."
The plumber calling from the toilet interrupted him. " Mister Johnston, are yie there Mr Johnston? Where are yie?"
The tall lean plumber, came round the corner of the hall carrying a pair of footprints, when he spotted Robert and Mr Johnston standing at the open door, and noticing Robert's wee white plastic trilby and white butchers coat, it wasn't difficult, he sussed the situation and was not at all happy.
" Naw mate naw, the water is stayin aff, A'll no be oanymare than a coupla hours here, and then A'll turn the water back oan, A huvtae finish this joab the day. Sorry mate but that's it."
" Yie don't understand mate, A wiz tryin tae explain the situa
"
" Naw it's no goin back oan, away yie go and attend tae yir business and A'll dae the same."
Robert tried to explain to the plumber but he wasn't listening. He went back down and spoke to auld Joe.
" The guy upstairs oan the third flair is gittin a shower fitted, the plumber reckons he'll only be a coupla hours Joe, and then it'll be back oan."
" A coupla hours, a coupla fuckin hours. Naw Robert that's no acceptable son. Away back up and tell the bastard tae pit the fuckin water back on, or A'll be up ahint yie, and hell have me tae fuckin deal wie."
" A've already telt the guy that, and eh, Joe, A also told him that, y..you were difficult tae deal wie Joe, and it wiznae a good idea tae git yie fired up, but he didnae seem tae be bothered aboot that."
" Aw is that right?"
Joe took two long and very sharp knives from the chopping block and slipped them into each side of his trouser belt.He lifted a short boning knife and stuck it down the belt at the back of his trousers. After filling both hands with yet two other long and very sharp knives, and repeating,
" is that fuckin right? He disnae seem tae be fuckin bothered aboot that, that'll be shinin fuckin bright."
He turned, and with his white coat billowing behind him, he headed outside and up the stairs to confront the plumber. Robert, hurrying after, took the time to lock the door of the shop, before, Ninja-like, he followed Joe up the stairs.
" Where ur yie ya bastard? Naebody cuts ma water aff oan a Monday. Cut ma water aff and A'll cut yir fuckin baws aff, Where urr yie ya bastard!"
Joe yelled this as he climbed the stairs. Meanwhile on the top landing,the plumber turned to Mr Johnston and said, " Git inside the flat and keep ahint the door. A'll haud the nutter aff while you phone the polis."
The plumber lifted the length of copper pipe and took up his post at the top of the stairs. While holding the pipe out like a lance, he called down to Auld Joe.
" Don't come up here ya mad bastard, the auld guys oan the phone tae the polis, they'll be here the noo."
" Fuck the polis. Git that water oan or a'm huvin yir baws in a jam jar."
Joe turned the corner and seeing the plumber was armed, gave Joe the incentive to attack. As he charged, he yelled the time honoured and much revered Scottish battle cry, a call heard on battlefields from Bannockburn to modern day Afghanistan, A yell designed to put the fear of death into the enemy. Joe howled at the top of his very loud voice,
" Die! ya fuckin smelly, shitey arsed bastaaaard! "
He flew up the stairs. At the top, he spun, his right hand with the knife, knocked the pipe out of the plumber's hands and sent it flying into the corner. With his left foot, he swept his feet away. His right foot, he placed firmly on the plumber's chest, and forced him slowly but resolutely onto his back.
Joe, now screaming, crossed both blade filled hands, scissor-like at either side of the plumbers neck, just as the move to decapitate was about to proceed, Joe suddenly calmed, and said.
" Is that you Laurence?"
" Eh!-- Aye. Uncle Joe, it's me, oh God, Oh thank God, Uncle Joe, it is me it's Eddie yir brother's boy, aye, Laurence Hawthorne, yir nephew."
" Up yie git son,A'm sure we can soart sumthin oot. "
" Oh aye uncle Joe, nae bother, as soon as a go hame and change ma troosers,"
" Aye dae that son, but make sure yie turn the water oan afore yie go."
" Aye right away uncle Joe, two minutes."
Archived comments for No Water. japanesewind on 26-04-2013 No Water. Die! ya fuckin smelly, shitey arsed bastaaaard hahaha, loved that after the build up. Almost seamless, only one bit dropped me out of the story to consider the point, it was this. Would Mel have been carrying photographs of himself to the butchers, especially after coming from "weapons training"? good laugh this...D Author's Reply:  Cheers David, This is based on a true story.
Mel did come into my father's shop and he did in fact have a pile of photiographs with him. Vanity thy name is Mel Gibson! I love your, Die! ya fuckin smelly, shitey arsed bastaaaard! Highlight. Thanks for popping in mate.and for your lovely comments. Weefatfella. Nomenklatura on 26-04-2013 No Water. Hey, WFF. Get about 90,000 words together (in short stories), employ an editor to knock the kinks out and look for an agent. Your stories are funny: you might have to sacrifice the truth for style in places but I think someone will take you on. Good luck. Author's Reply:
Ewan, Coming from yourself, that is high praise indeed. I must say I am very grateful for the help from your good self, Andrea, Ex Pat, E Griff and all commentators on UK Authors, who have helped me tremendously. I know I still have quite a bit to go, but I know I will get there with continued assistance. Thank you again Ewan. Weefatfella. japanesewind on 26-04-2013 No Water. NOW THAT IS FUNNY, imagine carrying those everywhere ya go....I do love mad max 1 and 2 though..... have you seen Apocalypto? good film .....D Author's Reply:
I know David, once you start telling stories ,it's difficult to stop. Weefratfella. BigIan on 27-04-2013 No Water. Yet another excellent tale WFF! Your stories are one of the reasons I visit here! Author's Reply:
Cheers Ian, Thank you very much for your generous comment. Weefatfella. Andrea on 27-04-2013 No Water. Great stuff WFF! Your sentences still need to be shorter and punchier though π 'He did this very quickly. It was reminiscent of some African tribal dance manoeuvre, accompanied by the click, sweep, click, as the edge, scraping along the harder metal of the steel, was sharpened. He moved the blade along the hone, ending in an arc. As he followed, perfectly, the shape of the knife-edge, he smiled serenely. Just a suggestion π Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Andrea. I totally agree, and have made the necessary adjustments. Thanks again for your much needed help. Weefatfella. ValDohren on 27-04-2013 No Water. Another great story from your pen WFF - Mel Gibson eh !! Val π Author's Reply:
Aye, givin ma age away. Thanks Val, for your support. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 28-04-2013 No Water. You and your stories are a just brilliant, you do need to publish them. Mike Author's Reply: Aye ,so they tell me.
Maybe one day. If I win the lottery Mike,I'll pay a proofreader to run over them,or I might just run the hack over them. Thanks for dropping by. Weefatfella. |
| Infidelity. (posted on: 22-04-13) What Happens In The Taxi, Should Stay In The Taxi. 
Infidelity.
The rain was falling heavily as I drew up outside the house in Broxburn. The garden, I noticed, was well tended. The pathway was bordered by well established bushes and tall grasses, which led to a half moon set of stairs guarded by a bored looking cherub, sitting with crossed legs, musing. Several expensive looking flowerpots on stands adorned the patio.
The white door opened and a young guy came out carrying a microwave oven. He ran with his head down towards the taxi. I should have been a gentleman and got out and opened the gate for him, but it was raining and I didn't want to get wet. I pulled the lever on the floor, which, on the Mondeo, opens the boot. He slipped the microwave in easily and attempted to flatten the back tyres as he slammed the boot closed.
" She'll be out just now driver, how much will it be to Bathgate?"
The fare from Broxburn to Bathgate,is usually a tenner or there-abouts, but with an estimated fare it's fifteen, as you never know exactly where you might end up, but I'm an old head.
" Twenty pounds mate."
His mouth dropped, but he opened his wallet and handed me the fare. He slipped his thinner pocketbook into his back pocket and headed back to the house. She came running down the steps like 'Baby' from ' Dirty Dancing'. She launched herself at him, he caught her, as her mouth latched onto his, they spun around and she wrapped her long legs round his waist, then slowly, as the ardour waned, she slipped to the ground. Still together, she had to rise onto her toes to maintain the kiss; they squeezed each other tightly, before reluctantly parting.
She sat on the front seat and after drawing her long brown hair from her wet forehead, she threw back her head and sighed,
" Oh, I love kissing in the rain, it's so sensual. I'm going tae Bathgate mate. Eh, Dykesyde road, dae yie know it?"
" Oh aye hen I know it well, whit number?"
When she gave the address I was shocked. That's Geordie's house, a workmate of mine at the foundry. Dirty bloody bitch, I thought. Out here in Broxburn playing around and my wee mate is in the house watchin the telly while she's out in Broxburn giving her favours away for domestic appliances. Oot, Ae Bliddy Order! We carried on to Bathgate. I opened the wee consul and took out my Eagles cassette; I slipped it into the machine and wound it forward to ' Lyin Eyes' I glared at the whore, before concentrating on my driving.
At Dykesyde Road she said, " Peep the horn and he'll come oot fur the microwave. Huv yie been paid?"
" Oh aye, I've been paid as well."
That drew a weird look from the hussy as she got out. She minced up the path to the house, passing Geordie on the way. No diving passionately onto him I noticed, even though the rain had stopped. I got out and lifted the boot-lid, Geordie leaned in and hoisted the microwave easily onto his shoulder.
"Alright Paul? Howzit gaun mate?"
" Aye fine Geordie, I'll see yie at work oan Sunday night pal, okay?"
I didn't want to get into a conversation with him, in case I blurted out what was in my head, so I tried to get away as quickly as possible.
" I'll have to go Geordie, I've got another fare to pick up, and I'm already late, see yie Sunday."
As I drove away I thought, IS that Geordies wife? Maybe he's gay? Naw he's definitely not gay. I remembered the day he was asked by Big Tam who owns the The Railway Inn, to keep the bar, while he went upstairs to attend to his pregnant wife. Neil Rodgers had come in with his partner. They were both dressed for the city. Neil was wearing a dark suit and Gloria had an evening dress on under her coat. When a man is obviously dressed for an occasion, it is customary, I think, to afford him a little respect, especially when he has his wife with him. Geordie obviously doesn't share my feelings on this.
' Hallo, Neil, yir lookin dapper the night, and Gloria, fur fuck sake, A'll tell yi wan hing hen, the way you're lookin the night, yill never be short ae a seat as long as ma face is aboot.' Naw, Geordie's definitely not gay.
Sunday night in the foundry, I was in the cabin of the crane, which was holding a job, while Geordie and Lightning Lindsay master craftsman, were working on it. The thought of Geordie's wife's infidelity kept running through my mind. Should I tell him? No. What should I do? It was getting to me. Amos, another workmate, was working on a core for the same job, he lived across the road from Geordie. I could ask his opinion on what to do for the best. I'd already spoken to my wife, as I wasn't sleeping. She had told me to forget it, it's none of my business and I've always stuck by the taxi driver adage,' what happens in the taxi stays in the taxi.' I should hold to that, she said, and forget all about it, but I've worked closely with Geordie for years, I felt I had a responsibility to him, to be honest at the very least.
At the break, Geordie went for a walk, as he was trying to stop smoking. I was playing dominoes with Amos, Lightning Lindsay and Big Rab Millar. I asked them what they would do in a similar situation, but not giving away any relevant details as to who it was.
Big Rab said, " if it wiz me and ma wife was puntin aboot and wan ae the guys knew aboot it, A wid want tae be telt. It's always the wan that needs tae know, who is the last person tae ken. It's no fair. "
Jimmy Lindsay opined, " say nuthin, if they git divorced and it wiz you that told yir pal, he would always connect you with losing his wife. Say nuthin is ma advice; keep oot ae other folks business. If yie dae that, yie cannae go wrang."
Amos asked," Who is it?"
" It disnae matter who it is."
" If you're not sayin who it is, that makes me think it's somebody we all know. If it's somebody we all know, then it has tae be Geordie, cause he's the only wan ae us that's no here, and you've waited tae he's went away afore yie brought it up. Is it Geordie you're talkin aboot ?"
" Aw, a fuckin detective. Columbo is it? Aye, it's Geordie. A picked his wife up oan Saturday night and she wiz aw ower this guy like a cheap suit. She hud her tongue doon his throat like a plumbers rod afore she goat in the caur, and aw furra bliddy microwave."
I explained the whole story, but still I wasn't resolved in what to do.
I agonised on for the rest of the week until Thursday night. I was left on my own with Geordie. The rest of the guys had wandered away to have a look at a casting they had moulded.
I began. " Geordie, I've something tae tell yie mate."
He lifted his head from his Playboy and asked me, " Whit is it Paul ?"
" Dae yie mind back tae Saturday night, when I brought yir wife hame wie the microwave?"
Geordie was smiling, he began to laugh, " Paul, the guys telt me oan Sunday night. I'm not married mate. The lassie yie brought hame wiz ma sister. She was cummin back fae her fiance's hoose, they git married in the summer."
" Huv you shower ae bastards been laughin at me aw week?"
" Aye, well yie shouldnae make judgements ae folk yie don't know, should yie ?"
I had to admit he was right.
Archived comments for Infidelity. Rupe on 22-04-2013 Infidelity. Another great one. I should have seen the ending coming, but for some reason I didn't - probably because the way you write pulls the reader completely into the narrator's way of looking at things, to the point where you can't see it from another perspective. That's a definite advantage in a story of this type. I was too busy wondering what I would do in that situation to notice that you were leading us down the garden path. Rupe Author's Reply:
What wonderful comments Rupe. Thank you very much indeed. I'm chuffed. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 22-04-2013 Infidelity. Well up to your usual high standard WFF. Mike Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Mike ,yir a pal!! Weefatfella. ruadh on 22-04-2013 Infidelity. I enjoyed this, there's certainly a lesson to learn from it π Well done. Author's Reply: Aye, Yie shoodnae Judge folk right enuff.Thank you ruadh, for reading and very importantly commenting.
Weefatfella. stormwolf on 22-04-2013 Infidelity. Gaun yersel WFF I am SO relieved tae ken that there is a code of honour among yea that says that aboot stayin' in the taxi. That brings me some small comfort thinking back... Alison x Author's Reply:
Aye Alison,if we didnae huv that code naebody wid git taxis. Thank you for popping in. Weefatfella. Ps Alison. I'm really chuffed "Four in a row, Hallo Hallo, Four In a Row ,Ya BElter!! ( Nibs) japanesewind on 22-04-2013 Infidelity. I like the thought of them "leaving you to stew" I wonder how they would have got you to "broach the subject" had you declined to do so, good one WWF....D Author's Reply:
They were a great bunch of guys David. Very hard working, and they all had an old fashioned hard working mentality. I was honoured (on reflection) to have met most of the guys in the Foundry at Armadale. Thanks for cutting By David . Weefatfella. ValDohren on 23-04-2013 Infidelity. What a dilemma, but maybe the moral of the story is to bide one's time as the truth will out eventually. Another great story from you WFF, intriguing to the end. Val Author's Reply:
Thank you Val. Aye, cannae keep ma mooth shut, that's the problem being a middle child. Thanks again Val. Weefatfella. Pronto on 23-04-2013 Infidelity. And let that be a lesson to ye! π Good write mate I thought daughter nor sister though. Relly enjoyed this one mate especially the authentic accent. Author's Reply:
Cheers Pronto. Aye a true story again. I'm pleased you enjoyed this. Thanks for dropping by. Weefatfella. OldPeculier on 23-04-2013 Infidelity. Very good. Flows well with plenty of atmosphere. Author's Reply:
Thank You for your kind comments Oldpeculier. Weefatfella. amman on 24-04-2013 Infidelity. Good story, Paul. Love the picture and agree that snogging in the rain would be kind of sensual (not that I can remember)!! Author's Reply:
Thanks Tony. You're the only one that commented on the picture, thanks fur that. Wheather it's sensual, or not to snog in the rain, I haven't a bloody clue, but the emotion felt right for writing. It seemed to fit the occasion. I hope you get the chance to let me know at some point. Thank you also Tony, for dropping by and for the generous rating. Weefatfella. JackCrowe on 12-06-2013 Infidelity. Catching up with your stuff Paul. So enjoyable to read and full of real, believable characters (which I guess they are!) And that Geordie was in on it . . a lovely twist right at the end. Great work pal. Author's Reply: 
Aye, The bugger. Thanks for taking the time to read and comment Jack, It's appreciated. Weefatfella. |
| The Westlothiana Inheritance. (posted on: 15-04-13) The people of West Lothian's small villages have an interbreeding problem. 
The Westlothiana Inheritance.
The full moon, cast a silvery gleam over the wet tar on the road as Ben turned onto the Queens Crescent rank. An eerie, primordial, verdant glimmer was emanating from something lying on the wet ground. Ben stopped his taxi and stepped into the warm moist air." Whit's that lyin there" The brilliance seemed to pulse, slowly but rhythmically,as if, whatever it was, had a heart beat. He cautiously approached the object, it didn't move. Ben prodded the thing with his toe, then, with the side of his boot, he flicked it, it rolled over silently, and a finger shaped appendage flopped slowly out from the centre of the entity, followed by the other four fingers and then extremely slothful, the thumb.
Ben looked closer, examining the strange article. It was a woollen, right hand glove. He returned to his taxi and opened the boot, inside was a grey plastic box. Opening the box, he removed a pair of pliers. He used the pliers to lift the glove and place it in a freezer bag, after sealing the bag he returned to his car and put it in the grey box.
He picked up his mobile phone and dialled his partner.
" Say I, is that you ya prick?"
" Aye it is ya bawbag, whit yie wantin at this time ae night? It's quarter past eleven."
" A've fund a glove, no jist an ordinary glove say I, it's goat five fingers and a thumb and it wiz lyin oan the rank, and guess whit?"
" A'm no guessin, jist tell me."
"There was a green radiance cummin aff it, say I. It wiz glowin like that stuff that can kill Superman, Whit's it called again? Aye Kryptonite. That means Greengrass has moved some eggs fae the mating pool in Winchburgh. Whit is it they say? We huv a windae ae opporchancity say I."
" Haud oan, urr you gone aff yir heid? Kryptonite? a green radiance yie say? Ben, we urnae wantin tae kill oanybody, in fact we're tryin tae dae the opposite. "
" Aye A know, but A'm cummin oot wie the motorbike the morra, tae pick yie up. be ready fur me. Catch yie soon."
The ancient West Lothian villages of Polbeth, Bathgate and Winchburgh had been isolated for generations and the population had been interbreeding. This had resulted in mutations, some in appearance, were slight; people were born with extra fingers. Others were more serious, some of the women, in recent years,were not giving live birth, they had begun to lay eggs, from which hatched, green and yellow lizards. Another problem was, that some of the men and indeed woman, while outwardly maintaining a human appearance, metamorphosed into lizards before mating.The mating process of this new species required three participants. Physical contact between male and female was required to induce ovulation in the female, six months later the mature eggs were laid in the mating pool for further fertilisation by the alpha male. The progeny of these mutants, most always, had six digits on each hand.
They eventually returned to human form after mating. The couples would be drawn to the mating pool to lay their eggs. The eggs were protected in a bubble nest made by the alpha male and kept warm by the slime, which emanated a rich green glow when wet. It was this substance on the glove, that had attracted Ben's attention. The lizard communes of Polbeth and Bathgate were much older than Winchburgh. Ben and his sidekick Paul, were trying to improve the gene pool in their own commune's, by introducing eggs from Winchburgh. With the Winchburgh commune being younger, the introduction of younger genes, they hoped, would begin to reverse the process of metamorphosis. The problem was, the Winchburgh commune was refusing to help. This attitude had caused Ben and Paul to act in their own interests, in order to preserve the species.
Greengrass, the Elder, was the alpha male and keeper at Winchburgh. This was why his glove was covered in the slime. He had to remove the eggs to a safe and warm environment after fertilisation in the pool. It was the duty of the alpha male and his wife to nurture the clutch for three months till hatching, before the human babies were distributed among the commune.
The motorbike and sidecar sped through the heavy rain along the wet, Faucheldean road, Ben, slammed the back brakes on hard, forcing the bike to spin into the field on the right. The side-car lifted as the machine slewed, coming to a slithering stop in the long grass.
" Fuck sake Ben, steady man, yie nearly hud us cowped there."
Ben removed his goggles from his eyes and lifted his German army helmet off his bald head,before shouting,
" Shut-up and listen!"
Paul, in the sidecar bewildered, asked,
" tae whit?"
",dae yie no hear that?"
Both men stopped breathing to listen. A strange, owl like call could be heard away in the distance....
" Woo Hoo! "
" Say I, Stupit! Did yie fuckin hear that? Ya twat. Stert breathin again. Yir fuckin face is gone blue. "
" Aye, A did hear it, ya belter, it's comin fae up oan the hill there, jist beside the canal."
" Oink! Trill! Whoo hoo! "
Both men jumped, when they heard the answering mating call. It was very near, and was coming from the long grass right in front of them. They couldn't see a thing in the darkness. The grass rustled and something long, green and crocodile like slithered very slowly and deliberately into the longer grass in front of them. The large lizard, nearly six foot long caught in the main beam of the bike now, began wriggling and pushing very quickly with its six toed feet, and soon disappeared out of sight.
" Say I, did yie see that fucker go, man? Goad they're quick."
Ben gunned the engine and the bike shot after the lizard. Paul, in the sidecar was nearly thrown out, as Ben recklessly chased over the grass tufts after the evading reptile.
Suddenly,out of the mist and rearing up in front of them, was a large Hawthorn hedge, six feet tall and five feet thick. The thorny hedge had been expertly worked and bent into shape, to act as a barrier, preventing anyone from getting through into the next field.
" Say I, we're buggered noo, we'll never git through this bastard. We'll huvtae go back tae the main road and try fae somewhere else, tae git intae the mating pool."
They both looked above the hedge. A green glowing mist flowed and pulsed in the air above the hedge. A loud splash and, WHOO HOO! Was heard from the other side of the obstruction, tauntingly close to the two lizard hunters.
" Say I, the bastards know we're here and are takin the pish, let's go and git the fuckers."
The bike turned back towards the road, Ben, careful not to hit any tufts, eased the machine out of the field.
At the tarmac, he gave the Zundapp ks750 its head, and they sped off towards Winchburgh. The rain, making the road slippery, but Ben handled the bike expertly over the narrow bridge on Niddry road, as they flew up towards the aptly named, Tally-Ho Public house.
Ben parked the bike in the pub car park. " Whit we daein here ya walloper?"
" A'm needing tabacca, A've run oot. Say I, A'll nip in here and git some. Yie cummin in?"
" Aye, okay well." As they walked into the bar, all conversation ceased. The five large patrons stared at the newcomers as they entered.
" Yiz huv went awffie quiet fae we came in, say I, huv yiz no? Huv youz bastard's goat sumthin tae hide?
Ben quickly grabbed the hand of the nearest drinker; he began to turn the bigger man's thick wrist against his will. The stronger and younger looking man, was beginning to sweat and his face began to turn red, as Ben, smiling and winking, held his hand in a vice like grip.
" Say I, Yir no very strong furra big ugly reptilian bastard. A expected a wee bit mair strength fae yie, especially wie that horn hingin oot yir heel, fae the mating ball on yir feet, and again, wie that extra finger yi've goat there."
Ben had turned the guy's wrist round, not only revealing the extra digit but a reptile's scale dropped to the floor, having been dislodged by the pressure exerted, when he had twisted the wrist. Paul bent and picked up the green scale, after examining it, he placed it in his jacket pocket.
The barman looking at Ben, asked, "Yes sir, what can I get yie"
"Say I, A hauf ounce ae golden vagina mate. As soon as yie like."
As the barman handed over the tobacco, he held his hand up revealing, five fingers and a thumb on the same hand.
" A widnae like tae race yie rolling fags ya bastard, yie wid beat me haunds doon. Especially licking the papers, Wie that tongue yie huv tucked away in yir gub there, Yie wid hae that done while rollin it, and withoot huvin tae lift yir haund tae yir mooth,"
Paul, while opening the pub door nodded to his partner, " Yie right Ben? Let's go." Both men walked outside and mounted the bike, Ben rolled a cigarette and after lighting it, he drew deeply on the tobacco.
" This whole toon is riddled wie thae lizards, It's an awffie place. These bastards huve been shaggin each other fur so many years noo, they don't know if they're humpin their uncle, or fuckin their auld auntie, And yie know whit? A dinnae hink the fuckers care."
A tall, bespectacled and distinguished looking gentleman, wearing a bunnet and baggy trousers,sidled up to the two lizard hunters.
"Hallo there gents, can I be of assistance tae yiz?"
"Say I. assistance is it? Wie the nick ae yie Greengrass, it's yirsell that maybe needs the assistance."
" Oh no, I have a present for you both."
The strange man held out his hands. On each hand, as well as five fingers and a thumb, he held a curiously large and green speckled egg. " Happy Easter gentlemen."
Ben taking the egg, smiled, and said in return." Say I. Happy Easter tae yirsell Greengrass. A take it we have an agreement for the future existence ae us aw? That's aw we wanted, that agreement and an egg each tae start the experiment. Is that right Paul? "
"Oh, aye Ben, but A've goat a plectrum fur ma daughter Angela's Ukelele tae,'' he said, holding up the green lizard scale.
Greengrass smiled and said,
" if yiz need oanymare eggs,just let us at Winchburgh know and we will try to accommodate yiz. Efter aw, it's aw fur the survival ae the species."
They all shook hands, and after untangling the extra fingers, both hunters sped away on the motorbike. The strange bunnet heided gentleman waved, saying.
" Tara,Tara."
Paul parked the hack in the lay-by at Cairnpapple Hill and made his way up the wooden steps to the ancient burial site. When he reached the plateau at the top, the whole of the west side of West Lothian spread out before him. He stopped for a moment to admire the view, before continuing on and into the Council reception area for visitors to the site.
In here was a hidden door that gave access to the Bathgate mating pool. Once inside, he opened the door and stepped into the elevator. The doors at the bottom slid quietly open. Paul found the switch and a long line of fluorescent bulbs, lit up the narrow corridor. The walls were granite with rough-hewn chisel marks and scratched drawings depicting lizard's heads, and some strangely, of naked men with the heads of lizards. The floor had been chiselled flat and led beneath Knock Hill and down to the mating pool.
At the end of the long corridor, a large bow shaped arch covered in amethyst quartz, framed a twenty-foot wide waterfall. The falls complained loudly as they were pulled from the top of the one hundred foot cliff, and dashed to oblivion on the surface of the lagoon. A white mist rose from the surface and spray rolled out from the falls. Waves washed continuously on all sides of the lake, like a rushing tide.
Secluded beaches of sand and shingle surrounded the lagoon at intervals. Behind these had been raised, grassy mounds with trees and shrubs, intermixed with exotic flowers of every hue. Tropical birds and symbiotic insects had been introduced; their whistles and clicks could be heard beneath the sound of the roaring water.
The whole place gave the impression of a tropical paradise. Fans in the cave ceiling blew hot air, and the discreet lighting, added to the illusion. The pool was warmed by hot springs on the lakebed, making it ideal for newly laid human eggs.
Several couples were here with their partners. They were swimming and paddling naked in the pool. Building up courage prior to drinking the water. The amniotic fluid, released into the pool by generations of mothers helped the couples, by making metamorphosis easier and quicker to achieve.
One clearly pregnant woman held by her partner, dipped her cupped hand into the pool. She raised it to her mouth, her partner held her tightly as she drank. She began to shake. Her head went back and she screamed in agony. Bright red globules of blood began to appear on her body as her lizard scales pushed through her human skin. Her partner gripped her tighter round the waist as she changed. The procedure escalated and she soon became a full lizard. The male released her and dipped his head into the pool. He drank, after lifting his head; he shook the excess water from his hair and began to change, he dived after his mate.
The female, assisted by her long tail and broad webbed feet, had swum very quickly away. There was a short period where the human brain retained awareness of self. During this interval, it was possible to enjoy the experience of swimming virtually unrestricted in this beautiful setting. The male lizard soon caught up with her and the mating ritual instinctively began.
The male circled the female. The orange colouring on his thorax glowing brightly indicated his arousal. She had turned a vivid yellow on her underbelly, also showing her to be in a similar state. He swam towards her and rubbed his body along her side, wriggling as he went. This triggered her response. She turned quickly and swam very close to him. They wrapped their bodies tightly around each other, and began to contract rhythmically, squeezing the egg out and into the water. The male disengaged and scooped up the egg with his mouth, he quickly headed for the large bubble nest, where he carefully placed it. The sticky green substance enveloped the egg and held it securely in the nest, to await the alpha male's attention.
Paul turned left and made his way into the control building. The well-lit and tiled corridor had doors to left and right. The first double door to the right was the incubation room. He opened the door and entered, inside, incubators lined the walls. These were linked to a bank of electronic devices whose bleeps and flashes were being observed and recorded on a tablet by a tall fat guy wearing a white coat. He nodded to Paul as he entered.
'' Awright Paul? Ya reptile.''
'' Aye, yirsell ya snake? How's things noo? Whit's been happenin?''
'' Uptie noo there's only been two women that haven't reverted back tae human form. They're hingin aboot the east end of the lake. Doon near the ventilation shafts, there's a wee deep pool there where the fish like to go and hide. That'll keep them there. Easy pickins yie see.''
He walked over to an incubator containing two large eggs. He pointed with his stylus.
'' These are their eggs, I've catalogued them, and I'm keeping a close eye, but they seem normal uptae noo. Thye're no far fae hatchin.''
'' Aye, okay Harry, keep yir eye oan them and let me know if there's any significant changes.''
'' Aye, A will Paul. A take it you're away tae make a significant change yirsell?''
'' Aye very good Harry. Catch yie later maybe. Dae yie no fancy a wee swim in the lagoon? ''
Ten minutes later Paul was standing naked in what he called his changing room. He opened a large fridge; inside was a test tube rack containing six phials of concentrated lagoon water. Paul selected a phial and removed the seal. He drank the water in one. The familiar pain struck him. His body began to shake uncontrollably. A rush flowed through his brain making him dizzy.
He dropped to the floor and lay on his stomach. His body, being used to the changes stretched out fully to accept the metamorphosis. The human Komodo dragon like lizard slithered quickly towards the flume leading to the mating pool and slipped silently, and with long tail swishing, into the water.
He swam quickly towards the nest. The two females sensing his presence came to meet him. Aroused by his pheromone release and brightly blazing orange thorax. They began the mating ritual. They swam in opposite directions and in ever decreasing circles around him, with their scales glowing bright yellow.
The alpha male, a complete lizard now, swam at speed for the nest. He took up a position directly below the eggs. The females followed. Now, completely intoxicated by the pheromone release, they rubbed their bodies against his. As they did, his seed burst forth covering the base of the nest.
He snapped now at the two females driving them away from the vicinity of the nest. When he returned, he waved his powerful tail creating a wave beneath the bubbles and forcing his seed onto the eggs. When this was complete, he created more bubbles from a gland in his throat and sealed the floor of the nest. The alpha male left the pool and returned to the changing rooms.
''Say I. Yie there ya Zoomer?''
'' Course A'm here, A'm talking tae yie. Whit is it?''
'' They eggs fae Greengrass?''
'' Aye.''
'' A took them tae Allandale. A put them in the mating pool and sprayed them. The bastards hatched oot fine. Say I. Aye bliddy fine, Duck-billed-platypuses.''
''Whit? Fuckin hell. Whit did yie dae wie them?''
''A'm gonnae gie them tae Edinburgh Zoo... Here A've jist hud an idea. Why don't we get the eggs fae there? The zoo A mean"
'' Dae yie think they wid be oany guid?"
'' Well A spoke tae Dominique. She said all we need fur the experiment is young DNA, preferably foetus, if flesh or bones, but ideally, ovum. That means eggs Eh?''
'' Aye, A think sae, A'll Google it later. Cairry oan.''
'' She said if we can git her some DNA fae the eggs at Winchburgh, she might be able tae mix them wie ours and see if there's a reaction.''
Dominique was a highly qualified Plastic surgeon and Geneticist. She had been recruited by Greengrass to remove the extra digits from the Winchburgh mutants. Due to her altruistic nature, she had been very helpful to all the lizard communities.
'' Okay '' said Paul. '' Sounds like a plan ''
They delivered the Platypuses to Edinburgh Zoo. The authorities there were suspicious as to how two taxi drivers had come across such rare mammals. Ben stuck rigidly to his story of finding them in a box at the side of the road. This was grudgingly accepted. They were thanked profusely before being asked nicely to leave.
'' A fun them in a boax?''
'' Well. Say I. Whit wiz A supposed tae say?''
'' Look, is that not the back door tae the Lizard and Reptile house?''
A keeper carrying a bucket and a mop had walked out leaving the door open. The two, after looking furtively around, slipped in through the door. The CCTV camera after zooming in followed them.
The guard monitoring the cameras, picked up the phone and spoke.
'' Aye control here, I've jist spoatted twa reptilian bastards slippin in the back door ae the lizard and reptile facility. If yie could tak a wee wander roond Jock. If yie dinna mind.''
'' Nae bother control. Is it human or animal bastards yir spikin aboot?''
'' Aye, They're human looking oanyway Jock. Yin hud a mean feel aboot him, the wee baldy yin.,I wid gang warily Jock. Maybe tak some back up?''
Aye thanks a bundle Dougie. I'll tak Big Betty in wie me. She's na lang wie them.''
Big Betty was a six foot, bodybuilding, Lithuanian nymphomaniac, called Bettina. She had spent thousands on factory fitted boobs. They were chained inside her clothes like excited watchdogs who were constantly tugging at their leash trying to get free. She had fallen out with her live in jockey. Two days later, after ejecting the guy from her love-nest. She was standing at the bus stop in Corstorphine. The guy attempted to pass her on his motorcycle. Bettina, recognising him, stepped out and yanked him with one huge hand, right off his Kawasaki. The bike continued along the road, but its rider was slammed to the pavement, knocking him senseless. Bettina ripped the guys helmet off, flipped his legs apart, and battered him several times on the Goollies with his bear-eared headgear.
Ben and Paul, oblivious to their impending doom, opened the creaking door to the Komodo dragon house. Inside, two large dragons, one female and the other male were lazing on logs. The two men dropped to their knees and searched for a pile of sand, where their prize would hopefully be hidden.
Bettina, holding a baseball bat in her right hand, waved it from left to right and up and down. As she tested the weight, she smiled and said,
'' Ho, ho. Dees are good thing my friend Jock. Tell to me why eet ees so heavy at zee front?''
'' Aye Quiney it's fit's called an Elgin basey. Fit yie dae is, yie stick a hauf-inch drill doon the heid o it. Then yie fill it wie lead and stick a bung in the top tae seal the bugger. Be careful Betty, dinna hit any poor bastard ower the heid wie it. Yir apt tae kill the fucker awthegither.''
''Okay, so eet ees not for hitting on zee head you are telling me. I weel try to remember thees.''
Betty opened the door to the reptile and lizard enclosure and called out.
'' Ve have seen you on thee kameras. Eef you don't come out, I weel come een and drag your asses out myself.''
'' Say I. Fuck off.''
''Okay, I are comeeng for your ass.''
Ben, covered in sand from digging into the pile stood up with an egg in each hand. Paul was still digging; he was deep into the pile when Ben kicked his feet.
'' Come oot right now hurry up, leave the eggs, A've goat two anyway, come oot now. Paul started to back out. The female komodo flicked her forked tongue; she smelled her eggs and began to growl. The growling awoke the huge male. He suddenly whipped his tail and his long forked tongue flicked in and out angrily. He came off the log like an Olympic swimmer. He snapped at Paul, missing him by a whisker.
The huge lizard hit the loose sand and skidded into the wall four feet away. The female was blocking the door. Ben booted her on the chin. she didn't notice. He jumped right over her head, and before the ungainly beast could turn, he had opened the door and was out.
Paul was left with two dragons to deal with. The male lying on his back, was kicking and twisting, his long pointed tail was thrashing from side to side, knocking over plants and banging loudly off the walls as he tried desperately to right himself. His thick sharp claws were raking the air as he growled and flicked his tongue angrily. The female with her head swinging from side to side, and her long claws throwing sand and dirt behind her, came fast, and threateningly towards him.
'' Cumoan, jump ower the fucker.''
'' Whit if it bites ma baws aff?''
'' If it gits yie in there wie its husband ahint yie, yi'll huv mair than yir baws chewed aff. Jump fur fuck sake. A'll distract the fucker.''
Ben stamped down hard on the tail of the female. She stopped, turned her head and snapped at him. At exactly the same time the male, on its feet now and moving its head from left to right, slithered menacingly towards Paul.
He shouted, '' Fuckin-hell ya bastaaard.''
and cupping his testicles in his hands, he ran and jumped clean over the dragon, he landed on his arse and his momentum took him right out the door. Ben slammed it shut. The noise of the two dragons hitting the door on the other side covered the sound of Ben's yelp, as Betty tapped him sharply on the back of his head with the Elgin Basey.
Paul stood with his hands in the air as though Betty had a gun.
'' Okay I surrender.''
Bettina whacked him on the head saying,
'' Sleep, fucking asshole.''
The two lizard hunters rubbing their heads, sat on a rough bench in a disused reptile enclosure. The concrete floor sloped down into a large drain in the centre of the room.
'' Say I. Talk durty tae me.''
'' Whit wiz that Ben? Did yie say something there?''
'' Aye, A said yi'll huvtae talk durty tae me efter we lift that drain cover. We'll huvtae change intae lizards so we can slip oot through the drains.''
'' Great Idea Ben, but A don't know any durty stories and if A did, A widnae be telling you, ya fuckin weirdo.''
Paul stood up and began to pace the room as Ben swung his feet below the bench. He spotted a door to the left. He wandered over and tried the handle. Surprisingly it opened. He looked inside. The room was empty apart from an upside down galvanised bucket with an old stained cushion on top, and a neat pile of girlie magazines sitting beside it. Paul laughed as he picked up the pile and carried them through to Ben, saying,
'' Unbelievable, it's yir lucky day mate. ''
Ben jumped down and while grabbing the drain cover he said,
''Geeze a haun wie this bastard will yie?''
Five minutes later, all that remained, was a heap of old clothes, a pile of dirty magazines, and an open drain.
Ben sat in his living room watching the Great Escape. Steve McQueen gunned the Triumph T60 up the small hill and took off right over the barbed wire fence.
He jumped up from his seat, and punched the air, yelling,
'' That's it, that's fuckin it. That's the way tae dae it. That'll show they inbreed fuckers fae Winchburgh. Wie a can ae nitrogen, A'll fly right ower that fuckin hedge. A'll show that long tongued, aye, and forked tongued,lying bastard Greengrass
Say I. Wee Ben's cumin fur yie, yie cannae hide fae me noo.
'' Yie there ya fanny?''
'' Aye, whit is it noo?''
'' A'm aw exited. A cannae wait tae tell yie ''
'' Well tell me, will yie, whit is it? ''
'' A know how tae git ower that jaggy hedge.''
'' Whit's yir idea Ben? A hope it's a better idea than that Zoo fiasco. Ma heid is still thumpin fae that freak rapped me ower the nut wie that pimped up baseball bat.''
'' Naw it's nuthin like that, A've found a way tae git ower the hedge
Nitrogen gas.''
'' Nitrogen? How's that gonnie help? Are we gonnie fly ower it in a balloon? At least A'll no huvtae look far for wan ae them, eh?''
''Naw, A'll inject the nitrogen intae the carburettor ae the Zundapp, like they dae in that movie wie that baldy guy, whit's he called? Oh aye, Dan Weasel. We'll fly right ower the fucker like ET oan his bike. I'll pick yie up oan the motorbike in half an hour. Say I. It's gonnie be brulliant mate.''
Paul put the phone down, and while shaking his head; he went to get his motorbike gear.
The familiar growl of the Zundapp was soon heard outside. Paul wearing his WW2 German helmet and greatcoat, climbed into the sidecar. Ben was similarly attired although he was wearing scarf and goggles.
'' Yie right?''
'' Aye.''
They headed to Winchburgh. At the Tally Ho car park, Ben stopped the bike with a noisy and dramatic skid, he revved the engine a couple of times, just to let the locals know he had arrived.
'' We'll go in here and git a canister ae nitrogen aff the bastards. A'll huvtae split the sidecar aff the bike tae reduce the weight afore we try tae fly ower that big hedge. Talkin aboot weight, whit weight are you ya fat lookin bastard?''
'' Shut it ya dwarf. Wie you bein half the size ae a normal human being that'll affset any weight A might be carryin. ''
Ben booted the front door of the Tally Ho and they swaggered in. Two big guys were playing pool while a third sat at a table reading a newspaper.
" Awright ya pack ae six fingered freaks, how yiz daein the day?"
The barman stepped back from the counter, he raised both extra fingered hands in the air and while shaking his head he said,
'' Look boys, A don't want any trouble, jist take it easy, will yiz?''
''Ach settle yirsell doon fur Goads sake, ya webbed footed bastard. A'm only want a wee favour aff yie. If yie could see yir way, that is?''
'' Aye? A favour fae me? Whit could A dae fur the likes ae you guys?''
'' A see yie huv Guinness fur sale there. That uses nitrogen gas tae pour it, diz it no?''
'' Aye it diz , but A need aw the gas A've goat tae pour ma beer here and it's expensive stuff.''
'' Away ya tight fisted, forked tongued bastard. Say I. A'll pull yie ower this counter and ragdoll yie aw ower this fuckin pub. Ya tail waggin piece ae shite.''
Ben stood on a stool and leaned over the counter trying to grab the barman's shirt in an attempt to carry out his threat. The three big guys, one carrying a pool cue, began to walk towards the bar. Paul nudged Ben in the back saying,
'' Ben watch yirsell, here come the cavalry.''
Ben swung round and while still standing on the seat, he stared the three men down, saying,
'' Say I. Paul, while A'm cleanin the shite up in here, will yie go inta the cellar and git us a can ae nitrogen gas?''
'' Aye okay Ben, but don't hit them wie yir hauns, yie huvtae steer the motorbike remember.''
'' Say I. That's okay A'll jist boot the shite oot them.''
The barman yelled.
'' Right, right, yie don't huvtae wreck the place. If it's only a canister ae nitrogen gas yiz want, jist take the fucker, and git yirsells oot ae ma pub, for oanny fuckin favour, ya pair a bastards.''
They took the gas and left for Ben's garage in Polbeth. Ben removed the sidecar and attached the canister to the side of the bike. He ran a hose from the canister to the carburettor via a t-piece with a toggle valve. To send the gas to the carburettor he just had to flick the switch.
'' Right let's try it.''
The Zundapp ks 750 carrying the two German helmeted lizards leaned low to the right. In one fluid movement, the riders using their body's weight, flipped the responsive machine quickly over to the left, as they negotiated the tight Newpark roundabout. They straightened out and a flat, smooth, newly tarred mile and a half empty ribbon of road stretched out in front of them. Ben flicked the gas switch. The tone of the engine raised a few octaves and the machine accelerated quickly along the road.
The two men lay almost flat along the body of the speeding motorbike. Ben struggled with the shaking handlebars, which were bucking and writhing trying to escape his grip. He risked a look at the speedometer. The bike was eating up the road at one hundred and thirty miles an hour and still accelerating.
He hit the brakes as the Lizzie Bryce roundabout raced to meet them. The bike overshot the give way and slid round the hazard, coming to a stop just beside the garage.
'' Woo-hoo-hoo!''
Cried Ben as he banged the tank of the bike and lifted his goggles from his face.
'' Say I. that wiz absolutely brilliant, the nitrogen gas turns this auld bike intae an Exocet fuckin missile. Dae yie no think sae? ''
'' Ho ho, Ben that wiz wan scary ride man. A thought when yie turned oan the gas A wiz gonnie git sooked right aff the bliddy thing. The accelaration wiz phenomenal, ma front teeth are noo mixed in wie ma back yins. Aye Ben, that'll git us ower that hedge mate. A've nae worries aboot that.''
Aye it will, but we'll huvtae use a ramp and huv it at the right angle tae make sure ae a safe landing. Aye it's aw, say I, in the trajectory.
An hour later, Paul, standing beside the huge hedge, was examining a four inch long and very sharp thorn. The dangerous barricade was full of them; if they landed on top of the organism at speed they would at the very least, be seriously injured, if not killed.
Paul shook his head and decided to go with the flow. He looked over at Ben who was standing behind his fifteen foot ramp, which he maintained was now at the proper angle for his desired trajectory. He was holding his thumb in the air and moving it from left to right. He closed one eye in disdain, and looked through the other in judgement, as he pretended to know what he was about.
''Yie right? Cummoan, we'll jist go furrit afore it gets too dark.''
Paul climbed onto the back of the bike behind Ben and grabbed his webbed belt. Ben turned round and said,
'' Pit yir helmet oan this could git scary.''
Ben revved the engine intermittently as he steered the machine slowly in a wide arc before turning round and lining himself up with the short ramp. Both men cowered down like lionesses about to attack. He revved the Zundapp's powerful 750 cc engine, making sure he was exactly where he should be. He slipped the clutch, and the motorbike made it's way noisily towards the ramp. Ben flicked the switch. The bike shot quickly forward, kicking the mud and grass behind it like the rocket he had named her after; there was a shudder and a change of tone as she mounted the ramp. Still accelerating sharply. The bike cleared the steep gradient, and shot right over the hedge, while still rising, the Zundapp ks750, like the missile she was, exploded.
Greengrass lifted his wine glass and slowly sipped. The cherry flavoured Barone Ricasoli Chianti filled his mouth. He looked across at Dominique. She was holding her glass just below her bottom lip and absent mindedly rolling the Riedel Vinum in the depression between her chin and her slightly open mouth; Her tongue ran along the rim of the glass tasting the wine, as her deep brown eyes appraised the magnificent view.
An ancient laburnum, bowing low, paid homage to the lake, while shading two lizards as they clumsily left the pool after laying and placing their egg. The couple would lie under the trees thick yellow flowered branches, waiting for the metamorphosis hopefully, to recede.
The water rolled rhythmically and the low sun glistened sharply off the rounded wave tops, which flashed like playful silver fish. Wave after small wave rolled the grey shingle back and forward, creating a lullaby of sound. The lake stretched for a full half mile.
To the west, the red weary sun silhouetted a group of four wooded islands, which broke up the long expanse of crystal clear water. A border of tall Chestnut and Maple trees reflected in the calm waters, framed the lakes western shore. To the north, the long hedge hid and protected the mating pool from outsiders.
The alpha male leaned back in his chair and sipped again at his wine, he sighed.
Dominique breached his reverie.
'' The experiments are showing promise Greengrass. The Platypus DNA, along with the alpha male mix, has given me hope. I will extract more tomorrow. I believe that experiment will lead to the required reconciliation.''
''Thanks Dom, A really hope wie can fun a cure for this. The community here are gittin awffie worried... So am A.''
She leaned over the table and placed her hand on his. The light wind breathed her sweet and musky perfume over him, like a whispered promise. A bead of perspiration flashed, catching his eye as it made its way over and between the goosebumps on her throat. It continued growing and gathering speed. Just before it entered the cleft of her full breasts, she caught it on her fingertip. While looking into his eyes, she raised her wet finger to her mouth and pushed it slowly inside. She withdrew her finger, as her tongue brushed her lips, Greengrass, inwardly shuddered.
The induced metamorphosis began. His hands trembled and the familiar flush ignited every nerve ending in his body. With his shaking hands he struggled to remove his clothes, kicking his shoes off, and then tearing at the buttons of his shirt. The process accelerated when Dominique unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers. His whole body was convulsing now. The scales preceded by bleeding, forced their way through his soft human skin, tearing the flesh as it did. He groaned, his eyes were rolling and his breath was coming fast and long.
Dominique took the small case containing the hypodermic and quickly drew blood from the carotid artery in his neck. When the phial was full, she said to the half man half lizard,
'' I'm sorry Greengrass, I had to get some arterial blood from you as you changed. It may provide a better catalyst.''
As she said this, a loud bang, followed by a resounding splash from the lake, made her quickly turn around. A black cloud was floating just above the trees at the edge of the lake. The water was rippling and a strong, fast wave was coming towards her.
Greengrass had seen the bike explode, he slipped quickly into the lake. He swung his strong tail slowly and swam from side to side to get his bearings before beginning his search. His long acute tongue was inspecting the water like radar. The sound of bubbles, and something thrashing and rolling in panic was fifty foot ahead of him and dropping.
The beating heart of whatever was falling was getting weaker. Greengrass knew he wouldn't keep his human sentience for long; he was already concentrating hard to maintain it. The constant influx of information coming to him from his hypersensitive lizard tongue was difficult at first to process. His very skin was reading the water and his amazing amphibian eyes cut through the liquid as though it were air.
There, in front now, and framed in a soft orange haze coming from the twilight above, was Ben. His eyes were open but glazed, small air bubbles were leaving his mouth as the last vestiges of life giving oxygen deserted him. His arms were trailing behind him and his legs hung impotently below.
Greengrass, dived further underneath the body and turning sharply, he whipped his long tail. The lizard surged through the water at great speed. As he passed Ben, he snatched the collar of his greatcoat with his strong teeth and jaws, Using his powerful feet and long tail to their greatest effect the alpha male pushed for the surface.
Man and lizard rocketed upwards so fast they broke the surface whale-like. Greengrass, pulling the unconscious Ben swam towards Dominique, who was standing on the shore. He beached himself. As he made land, he let go and quickly flipped fish-like, back into the lake. Ben's body rolled and stopped at the feet of Dominique.
She immediately began resuscitation and heart massage. Ben coughed and water poured from his mouth. He coughed again, His eyes flickered. The doctor put her hand to his brow, more to comfort than to glean any medical information.
She rolled him onto his side and into the recovery position. Ben moaned and tried to raise himself.
'' Did yiz fun ma partner? There wiz two ae us oan the bike. Find him will yiz, please. The bastard'll never let me live it doon if a let him die here the day?''
Dominique consoled him saying,
'' Don't worry Ben we'll find him. You just rest for the moment and gather yourself.''
Greengrass, came forward and asked,
'' Is he badly hurt Dom? ''
'' Well I've examined him as best I can and he seems to have no outward injury, but we should get him into my lab and we'll have a better look. Any sign of Paul?''
''Here he comes now.''
Paul was walking slowly towards them. He was carrying his dented helmet and rubbing his head. His greatcoat was torn from the pocket down. The cloth was flapping as he walked.
'' Hallo there, whit's happenin? A thought a wiz a goner there, the bliddy Zundapp blew up cause ae the nitro. Is that wee Ben lyin there? Is the bugger awright?''
'' He's been unconscious so we'll have to take him into the lab to check him over. How are you?''
'' Och A landed on a wee tree that broke ma fall. A've rattled me heid, but apart fae beein a wee bit dizzy, A seem tae be fine.''
The following day Ben awoke; he lifted the top sheet and checked for injury. He counted two feet with all six toes intact, two legs, two of them and one of those. The door opened and his partner Paul, followed by Greengrass and Dominique entered the small room. Ben, leaning on his elbows, sat up and pointed his finger at Greengrass,
" You ya lying forked tongued auld bastard. Whit wiz aw that aboot wie they Duck-billed tyhingumyjig's eggs? Aye an A'll Happy fuckin Easter yie the noo.''
He attempted to get out of the bed but Dominique put her hand on his chest and quietly said,
'' Ben, relax please. The platypus eggs were my idea.''
'' Whit? Aw fur fuc..''
He tried again to rise from the bed. She pushed him down.
'' He was supposed to tell you. Weren't you Greengrass?.''
'' A thought the buggers would huv been bright enough tae know, that the Duck-bills bein the only mammal's on the planet that layed eggs, would huv been significant. A didnae wie oany stretch ae the imagination think the fanny's would huv tried tae hatch the bliddy things.''
Ben, up on one elbow now, retorted.
'' Well we did, and aw we goat oot ae it, wiz a sare heid fae a big titted nympho oan a mission wie a baseball bat.''
Dominique said. '' The facts remain. The DNA from the Platypus's mixed with Greengrass's mid-metamorphosis blood and your own, is at last showing all the indications I have been looking for. All we have to do now is to try it on the two females from Paul's Bathgate community, who have been morphed for the longest time. If it works there, we have the reconciliation we've been looking for. Are we all in agreement Gents, and alpha males?''
At Bathgate, Paul naked, and standing next to the flume, lifted the phial and drank the draught. Minutes later he was in the pool. The scent of the two females was strong and to his left. He headed in that direction. The two lizards approached him and began the mating ritual.
The lizard part of him wanted instinctively to join in, and he felt a thrilling rush of excitement flow through him. He forced himself to resist and began to swim towards the waterfall, where Harry was waiting with Ben, Dominique and Greengrass.
Harry was armed with an air rifle loaded with the antidote. As the lizards passed he fired. The closest female darted forward as a jet of lizard blood sprang from her side. Paul could feel panic and fear coming through the water towards him. Another crack and the other female exuded similar emotions. They both swam very quickly away, heading for the east end of the lake where they had been hiding before and where they felt safest. Paul lost his human control completely and began to swim towards the frightened females, he was the alpha male after all, and they needed his protection.
Greengrass, Ben and Dom, stood by the lake waiting. One of the females came slowly up the lake and made for the shallows. She swam slowly, in circles. Soon a naked young woman stood where the lizard had been. She held her face in her hands and began to cry. Dominique, carrying a towel ran round the lake towards her. The other lizard soon joined them.
The cure had worked,and although this only took the lizard communities to the status quo, giving them control to an extent, of their metamorphosis. A new trust had been built. The legacy of the three hundred and fifty million year old Westlothiana Lizziae, would continue. High in a cave under Knockhill, the bones of hundreds of these small lizards secreted DNA, which the rain washed continuously down into the water system for the whole of the county. Only when this was discovered and neutralised, would any significant headway be made into a cure for the lizard communities.
***********************************************************************************************
This is a compilation of four different pieces making the whole. The comments here are for the first piece ending in >>>
Greengrass smiled and said, " if yiz need oanymare eggs,just let us at Winchburgh know and we will try to accommodate yiz. Efter aw, it's aw fur the survival ae the species." They all shook hands, and after untangling the extra fingers, both hunters sped away on the motorbike. The strange bunnet heided gentleman waved, saying. " Tara,Tara."
Archived comments for The Westlothiana Inheritance. stormwolf on 15-04-2013 The Winchburgh Chronicles. OMG WFF I have said before and I will say again...you should be sending off your stuff to see if it can be made into comedy like Rab C Nesbit. It is way on a par if not better and would really go down a storm to us here in God's Country! LOVED IT. Too many hilarious pieces to highlight in fact I will be honest, it was ALL top rate. Alison x oops almost forgot to say, I have very dear friends who stay in Winchburgh. I have never paid too much attention to their digits, we are too busy getting 'fou and unco happy' but will next time we meet! Author's Reply: 
Aw Shucks Alison. Thank you very much indeed for your wonderful comments, and very generous rating. I'm fair ower ra moon. I don't intend to insult anyone. The character 'Greengrass' is based on a friend of mine who in fact does live in Winchburgh. He has the ordinary amount of digits and is in fact tall and distinguished, especially while wearing his bunnet. Weefatfella.x Mikeverdi on 15-04-2013 The Winchburgh Chronicles. WFF, I am concerned about your sanity!!! Lol You are a true one off. Brilliant. I make no apology for my top mark. Author's Reply: 
Thank you very much Mike. For the amazing rating and your intuitive comments. I do worry myself sometimes. Weefatfella. ValDohren on 15-04-2013 The Winchburgh Chronicles. Been on the Whisky again WFF ?!! Great - loved it. What an imagination you have. Val π Author's Reply:
Aye! A Huv. Thank you Val for your kind comment. I'm back on the wagon. Weefatfella.x BigIan on 15-04-2013 The Winchburgh Chronicles. The good folk of Winchburgh will rise against ye weefatfella! Be assured of that! SayI! Author's Reply:
Aye Well, SAy I, if it's only the good folk, A've nuthin tae worry aboot, there's only two ae them and they're jist oot the mating pool. Thanks for your Comment BigIan. Welcome again to UKA. Weefatfella. Rupe on 17-04-2013 The Winchburgh Chronicles. This is really mad, in a good way. Very inventive stuff with elements of comedy and horror - not a bad mix if you can pull it off. The signs are good. Are there more chronicles to come? Rupe Author's Reply:
Thank you Rupe for your very encouraging comments. I was a wee bit afraid to submit this, that's why I hedged my bets with the experimental thing. The response though has been very encouraging. I might try to expand it into something more substantial, I will, However, try to keep to the humour side. rather than the horror. Thank you again Rupe for your encouragement. Weefatfella. stormwolf on 18-04-2013 The Winchburgh Chronicles. Forgot tae mention at the time but that female reptile in yer pic is a shameless hussy so she is. (Ma mither telt me nivver tae lie like that in public) just sayin' Author's Reply:
Aye Alison, She wiz right. You should at least wait tae he shuts the door. Weefatfella. Bandersnatch on 18-04-2013 The Winchburgh Chronicles. I loved it but I got a bit confused. Did they want to save the lizards or kill them? Also were they lizards? Or did they have lizards in the town? Even though I was confused (which wasn't your fault or your writings fault but just my competence) it was excellent and very funny!! BanderSnatch x Author's Reply: Thanks for your read and Comment Bander. They wanted to take an egg from Winchburgh to enrich the gene pool in their own communes, they were all lizards. including the two guys on the motorbike.
Weefatfella. Savvi on 18-04-2013 The Winchburgh Chronicles. Loved it very original and scary funny top marks WFF great read. S Author's Reply:
Thanks Savvi, for the very generous rating, and for taking the time to peruse my off- the- wall experiment. I'm very pleased with the outcome. I may expand this. Again Thank you. Weefatfrella. Andrea on 21-04-2013 The Winchburgh Chronicles. Haha, brilliant WFF! Loved it! Author's Reply:
Aw. Thanks very much for your lovely comment Andrea. I'm ecstatic! The" Nib". Ya brammer! Love It makes it all worthwhile. Weefatfella. Andrea on 21-04-2013 The Winchburgh Chronicles. Not all nibs come from me tha knows. Looks like someone else liked it too π Author's Reply:
I know! I love it anyway. Weefatfella. pommer on 08-08-2013 The Westlothiana Inheritance. Part 1 Great Wff.What imagination.If I ever return to Longniddry I shall look for them.I enjoyed reading this great piece of writing.I used to smoke that "Golden Vagina" bacci.I also once rode a Zuendapp in my own country many years ago.Sorry I haven't commented before, but I shall catch up gradually again. ,A great write.Be lucky Pommer. Author's Reply:
Cheers Pommer, I also used to enjoy the odd roll-up But I preferred Old Holburn. Like the babies used to say " It's better to use plastic teats on your bottle, than to share the real thing with a guy who smokes Old Holburn." Keep truckin Pommer. Weefatfella. |
| Funerals. (posted on: 08-04-13) It's true. We cry at weddings and laugh at funerals. 
Funerals
My head was thumping and my mouth was as dry as a stick. I had been at my Mother's funeral the day and night before. It was early morning when I got to bed in my daughter Angela and her husband's new home in Wishaw. I felt really rough and desperate for some kind of liquid, any liquid would do, to help me to open my mouth. After swinging my legs onto the floor and securing my arms on the settee bed. I attempted to rise. Surprisingly, I made it on the first go. While scratching my arse, I wandered into the kitchen looking for the kettle.
The coffee was hiding. Most people put their coffee in clearly marked jars on the worktop, in groups of the usual three normally. Not my Ang. I couldn't find it, I opened every cupboard and moved everything about. At last, behind the porridge on the top shelf, there it was, a chrome tin with the words, COFFEE. I scooped a heaped teaspoonful into the mug, and proceeded to look for my cigarettes with the one eye that was working. The other needed constant attention; I rubbed it and twisted my knuckle into it, as I searched. I found a twenty packet in my coat pocket with only one missing. Right, let's get outside now and have a coffee and a fag.
The keys were missing, from the front and back doors. Don't people usually leave the keys in the locks? Eventually, after pouring the contents of my daughter's bag all over her kitchen table, I located the front door key. Just as I opened the door, I remembered to put my trousers on, and the shirt from yesterday. After placing the mug of coffee on the outside window ledge, I lit a cigarette and drew deeply, I coughed on the smoke, so I drank from the mug, and got a mouthful of broken windscreen. It was ground coffee for the coffee-making machine; I swallowed anyway, as I desperately needed the liquid and the caffeine.
Three cigarette's later, and after showering and dressing, I phoned my brother Tommy. " Hi, Tommy, how are yie? Whit time is the train to Clydebank? "
" Aye, well I feel as good as you sound. Be at the station for eight thirty, the train's comes at eight forty two, I'll meet you there."
We were going to attend our Aunts funeral in Glasgow and although having buried our Auld Maw the day before, and were hung over, we couldn't possibly miss offering our respects to Aunt Hanna and her family.
We boarded the train at Wishaw, I asked Tommy " Where's Joe?"
" Aw, He's gettin on at Wishaw south, the next station down the line."
The train stopped there but there was no sign of our young brother Joe, just after the train pulled away, Tommy's phone rang, he answered and put it on loudspeaker to let me hear.
" Hallo, are you two bastards oan that bliddy train whose arse I can just see disappearing round the corner there?"
" Aye, we are. Look Joe, we have to change at Partick for Clydebank, so we'll git yie there okay."
" Right, okay, the next wan's in half an hour, I'll meet yiz there."
We alighted at Partick and my older brother Tommy,who doesn't drive, is used to public transport, and has an encyclopaedic knowledge of bus and rail networks.
" There's a wee cafe down there under that bridge, A think maybe we've goat time furra coffee and a roll on bacon, before oor Joe and that train he's getting on comes in, whit dae yie think? Dae yie fancy it?"
" Aye"
One of the strange things about oor Tommy, and there's quite a few. Is he bears more than a passing resemblance to the great Anthony Hopkins? He doesn't think so, but sometimes it's frightening. We were both dressed for a funeral, wearing,long black coats, white shirts and black ties. Tommy is six foot tall and carries himself well.
Our old Father Joe, was always saying " straighten yir shoulders there, look the world in the eye and let it know yir comin."
Whatever the hell that meant. All his children, because of this, walk with straight backs and square shoulders.
As we walked towards the cafe, we were being watched by two police officers, one female, the other on the turn. The female stared at who she thought was Anthony Hopkins.
Tommy dug me in the ribs. " Dae yie fancy a laugh ?"
" Aw naw, whit you uptae?"
We are from Craigneuk in Wishaw, (Motherwell and Wishaw,are famous for coal and steel. Craigneuk, is famous for stealing coal.) And as well as walking well, we were brought up to be wary of the police, and to rip their knitting at every opporchancity. Tommy, speaking to the male officer, while effecting an Oxford or Cambridge type accent, said as he inclined his head in their direction.
" Good morning officers, " They replied similarly. " Am I correct in assuming, that below yonder bridge, there is a hostelry, or indeed a cafe, where one may partake of a bacon roll and perhaps consume a coffee to boot."
The officer replied, " Eh, yes sir, you're right, there is a cafe below that bridge, just as you say."
Tommy replied, abruptly, " thank you officer, and, good day to you."
The female, now certain that she was in the presence of a famous Hollywood film star, began, " excuse me sir, but are you......"
Tommy cut her off with a brusque, " certainly not!"
We continued on under the bridge to the cafe. The coffee and bacon rolls were magnificent, and just what was required. We were sitting at an outside table, enjoying a cigarette with the coffee, when Tommy said, while nodding across the road " aw naw she's back. "
The police officers had come down for another look, to see if Anthony Hopkins was enjoying his bacon roll at a greasy spoon, under a bridge in Partick, as unlikely as that was. Tommy, turning his back as they passed, denied them their confirmation. We returned to Partick train station just as Joe's train drew in.
Joe came off the train and joined us, saying. " That wiz some night last night wiz it no? At least auld Cathy, Goad rest her auld soul, hud a guid send aff. Ma heid feels like it's ready tae burst. Whit aboot you two?"
I answered. " Naw we're fine, we've just hud a great coffee and a cuppla bacon rolls in a wee cafe doon below the bridge there, haven't we Tommy?"
" Eh, aye, great bacon rolls, and the sauce wisnae the cheap stuff. Aw naw, the very best ae tack. No even HP, it wiz Daddies sauce. The coffee wiz guid tae. A good big truckers mug, and red-hot. Goad aye, a really good breakfast that wiz. Wintit Paul?"
Joe's head was tennis courting between the two of us and his mouth was watering, he licked his hungover lips and said. "Of course, being my brothers, yiz thought aboot me, and yiz got me a cuppla they guid rolls, didn't yiz?"
" Did you git Joe a roll Paul?"
" Naw, did you Tommy?"
" Naw a didnae." Joe's face dropped, he was clearly disappointed.
I reached into my coat pocket and produced a polystyrene cup, while saying. " Naw A didnae git yie a roll Joe, A goat yie a coffee"
Tommy produced a white bag with twisted corners and said " And A didnae git yie a roll Joe, A goat yie two rolls."
Joe, smiling, said " pair ae bastards." The Clydebank train arrived. All the bastards boarded.
After the rites were performed. Auld Hanna was put to rest. We were asked to attend a reception to celebrate her life, in the prestigious Oran Mor public house and restaurant. After removing my coat and sitting down, I asked my brothers if they would like a hair of the dog from the bar. " Oh yes." was the answer. I went to the bar with wallet in hand and ordered two pints of lager and a pint of heavy. The barman informed me there was no need for the wallet till one o-clock, as it was a free bar till then. I, taking advantage of my cousin's good will, ripped the arse oot it and ordered a double Glenmorangie, along with my pint of heavy. I immediately downed the whisky and joined Joe with the drinks. "Where's Tommy?"
" He's away tae see Mrs Murphy. (Toilet)."
" It's a free bar Joe."
" Ya belter." Joe got up and came back with two double whiskies, one for himself and one for Tommy. We both made sure that, only we went to the bar, until the free bar had stopped.
At quarter past one, I said to Tommy, " Are you no thinkin ae gittin a round in? Yi've sat there like a Jakie aw day and we've been pouring drink intae yie."
" Aye, settle right doon. A coodnae git a chance, you two were jumpin up tae the bar like a pair ae alkies. Whit yiz wantin?"
" A'll huv a double Glenmorangie and a pint ae heavy."
Joe piped up, " Aye, a pint ae lager and a double McAllan."
Tommy just stared at him, " A McAllan is it? Only the dearest bliddy malt in the shoap, a double McAllan? "
"Well it's whit A've been drinkin aw day, A'm no gonnae change noo am A?"
Tommy, shaking his head, went to the bar. He returned with the drinks and moaned, " Eighteen pounds and forty six pence for that round. Bloody dear hole this, is it no?"
Joe answered, " A coodnae tell yie, it's been a free bar uptae noo, hasn't it Paul?"
I Just nodded.
We left the Oran Mor shortly after and spent some time in my cousin Martin and Wilma's home in Milngavie, where we had a surprisingly wonderful evening, considering the circumstances. I believe both Mothers were given a good send off and both lives were celebrated.
Whoever they are, I've heard they say, " We cry at weddings and laugh at funerals." On this occasion at least, they proved to be correct. On the way home,I happened to catch the reflection of the three of us sitting on the train.
We were smiling.
Archived comments for Funerals. ValDohren on 08-04-2013 Funerals. Another great read WFF - love your little stories, they are very entertaining. Val π Author's Reply:
Thank you Val. I appreciate you dropping in. Weefatfella. freya on 09-04-2013 Funerals. Wff: let me tell you how I, a would-be poet, came to read and thoroughly enjoy Funerals. I felt guilty because I haven't been reading and commenting on very many pieces, so today I was determined to read every single posting! Yours surprised me in it's right-on portrayal of working class behavior and topics of conversation. We (the working class) are not given to weighty philosophizing, nor pretentiousness. We are of solid full monty stock, in all respects. Love that film for its interesting and quirky characters, and so too did I become enchanted, amused and won over by your three brothers. Wouldn't mind having a coffee at some rail stop with any one of them. Bet I'd never stop laughing! Shelagh Author's Reply:
Well thank you Shelagh for your wonderful comments. I'll be sure to pass on your thoughts. That was indeed a great day, even though the occasion was sad. Aye, what you see is what you get with my lot. Thank you for cutting by. I hope to hear from you again sometime. Weefatfella. Fox-Cragg on 09-04-2013 Funerals. Hi WFF, another excellent read. Did wonder if at the cafe it was going to be someones liver and a nice bottle of chianti. Joking aside, well captured of how it is not just stiff upper lip and carry on, there is a lot of feeling. Thanks for sharing, Paul Author's Reply:
Thank you Paul, for your insightful comment. Aye, strangely, it was an amazing day. The emotions are right at the surface. I think this is the explanation for such a day. Thank you for dropping by once again. It is appreciated. Weefatfella. Ionicus on 09-04-2013 Funerals. I am hooked on your amusing anecdotes, Paul. That was a poor trick to play on Tommy; how did it take it being told of the free bar? Author's Reply:
Ha! Luigi,Tommy is a publican. (The story, The Ghost of Girdwoods bar) He got his money back later on at his own pub. It's just up from the station at Wishaw. The thing with my brothers and tricks is, get in first. I have had my fair share of pranks done to me, I remember the time............now that's another story. Thank you once again for popping in Luigi, it is appreciated. Weefatfella. geordietaf on 09-04-2013 Funerals. Well Jimmy, that was another wee gem. I'm off to get your Wondrous Weavings π Author's Reply:
Thank you for peeping round the door Taff. I jhope you enjoy the Weavings. I'm thinking of self publishing more 'Weavings' again, sometime in the summer when I can get it all onto PDF. I appreciate your always encouraging comments. Weefatfella. geordietaf on 09-04-2013 Funerals. Downloaded Weavings and already into the first tale. Fantastic reviews. You ought to brag a bit more wee man π Author's Reply:
I'm A wee bit embarrassed by the rawness of the Weavings. It was very early in my attempts at writing. The folk on this site have helped me tremendously, and thankfully still are. I hope I've improved somewhat. Thank you for spending your coin. I sincerely hope you are not disappointed and feel it was worth it. I hope you enjoy them Taff. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 10-04-2013 Funerals. A lot is said on this site (and others) about the right and wrong of writing...the spelling, punctuation, lay out , grammar etc.. and I am sure that its all correct...there is another aspect that most of us look for and that's entertainment. You supply that by the bucket load every time. Thank's for another bucket full. Mike Author's Reply:
You're very kind Mike,thank you very much mate. Weefatfella. japanesewind on 10-04-2013 Funerals. You capture the full weight of the laughter and tears. had to go to a funeral year before last, 800 people there. Unbelievable jesting there was.....seeya.D Author's Reply:
Good God David! I read that as Jousting. Thank you once again D, for your generous comments. Weefatfella. Rupe on 10-04-2013 Funerals. My father made sure there was plenty of booze for his wake, but the place was so packed I could hardly get to the bar. I think that's called irony. I enjoyed this read - a great slice of life. You have a knack of writing so that the reader is put right into the scene, and the dialogue is especially sharp. Good stuff. Rupe Author's Reply:
Thank you very much indeed Rupe, I am cheered by your generous comments. At my Fathers wake, it was his pub. I ended up behind the bar,- working. Now that's Irony. Weefatfella. amman on 11-04-2013 Funerals. Hi Paul. Just found this and so pleased I did. Such a cheerful, laugh out loud story of the way you and yer bros dealt with loss. I wish Welsh funerals were like that. This is so well written, the idiom perfect; you must include it in the next Weavings compilation. The 1st one is sitting on my Kindle and very entertaining it is too. Keep writing, my friend. You have a raconteurs talent for this kind of story. Cheers. Tony. Author's Reply:
Thank you very much indeed Tony, for your kind comments and for shelling out for the Weavings. I'm chuffed tae bits. Weefatfella. Kat on 11-04-2013 Funerals. WFF... I hope you're trying to get yourself an agent and/or publisher... if I was one or t'other I'd offer you a contract... ! :^) Loved this and love your work. My stepma from Barrhead would be rolling on the flair... ! Kat x Author's Reply:
Och. Hen! Yi've goat me in a state noo. Thank you very much for your very kind comments. I enjoy Weaving away here for the moment. I doubt if I'm anywhere near ready for proper publishing yet. I'm very happy to sharpen my knives at UKA for the time being. Again Thank You Kat. Weefatfella. |
| Three Punk Rockers, A Soldier and a Bayonet. (posted on: 01-04-13) Another Saturday night in the taxi. 
Three punk Rockers, A soldier And A Bayonet.
It's summer 1987. It's two o'clock on a Sunday morning. I'm cruising in my taxi into Bathgate rank. I've had a good night, no trouble and a few laughs. Most of the time it's an enjoyable job. That's what people don't appreciate; taxi driving restores your faith in human nature. People are absolutely fine and pleasant, if treated similarly. The usual column of refugees to Blackburn and Stoneyburn are, with heads down, stoically marching home. A few on the right hand side have started to walk, to get away from the rank, in case of any trouble and they will try to flag a taxi on the way.
I perused the possible easy fares as I approached, not recognising any regulars, I continued on towards the rank. I slowed on approach, to view the throng. Two numpties, one eating pizza from the large box, the other drinking a bottle of beer,are standing at the front of about one hundred people in the queue. They are all milling about in twos and threes. There were couples cuddling and kissing, mates pushing and shoving. There's a fight at the back of the rank. The queue has opened up here, forming a semi circle round the fight, one guy is taking on two, he seems to be holding his own, one is backing off as the other moves in swinging and kicking.
I have stopped at the traffic lights, giving me a grandstand view. A girl with a Chinese takeaway runs in front of me, she swings the bag and clouts the guy attacking her boyfriend. The takeaway wrapped itself round the guys head, before exploding and sending curry and rice everywhere. The victim staggered, his head, covered in fried rice, lolled from side to side, his body rippled, ribbon like, before he dropped to the ground, out cold. His mate, seeing the odds were now against him, like all cowards, ran away.
The lights changed and I passed the rank and began to scout for an acceptable fare. A guy is walking along with a drunken girl; he has lifted her skirt up at the back and is showing her arse to the world. Two guys walk right out in front of me, I brake, and one puts his hands on my bonnet, I revved the engine and he stared drunkenly at me, I lifted both hands in frustration, he laughed and showed me he had a middle finger, before staggering zombie-like, to the opposite kerb. I carried on until the next red traffic light stopped me.
A Mohican squaw waved to catch my attention, she was smiling pleasantly and she looked nearly sober. I nodded and her and two other chain and paper clip infested tribe members got in. " Hi, taxi man, will yie take me tae Armadale, then will yie take they pair ae whores gittin in the back, tae Blackridge?"
" Aye nae bother hen" I flicked the meter on and headed west. Chingachgook's daughter flashed her eggs and bacon as she left the car at Armadale cross.
Just before I pulled away again for Blackridge, the safety pin riddled toilet brush in the back piped up, " Haud oan mate, diz that meter say £ 3.60?"
" Aye it does, why?"
" My Goad, if it's £3.60 the noo, whit'll it be at Blackridge?"
" It'll be about £6.00 ladies, but I can stop and let you out at any time, if you don't have the fare, do you want out now?"
" Naw, it's okay, we've plenty of money, It's Julia, she's last oot and she says she wants to pay yie in the back."
I've been subject to this line of banter before, so I ignored it, but she wasn't letting go.
" Would yie ever dae that driver?"
"Whit's that hen?"
" Git payed in the back, you know, wie sex"
" Well it aw depends oan who it is that's offerin."
" Whit if it wiz wan ae us?"
" Well A hope tae God yiz have goat the money." I dropped the Munro sisters in Blackridge and headed back to Bathgate.
Twenty minutes later I was u turning in Blackburn Main Street. A soldier in uniform was flagging me. I stopped. It's funny what passes though your mind very quickly when you see someone, it's the job, I am always sizing people up, checking him or her out for possible threats. This soldier was missing his cap; I looked at his epaulettes, still no cap. I wondered where it was. There is no military uniform without a cap of some description. I locked the doors and lowered the window. He leaned on the car roof and spoke into the window.
" Eh, can you take me to Edinburgh mate, and how much will that be?"
" Aye, A can take you mate, it's £20.00."
" That's fine, okay, but, can you take me quickly into Mosside road? I've lost something and I want to check one more time, It'll only take a minute."
I opened the door, as he got in he handed me the twenty pound fare. There is nothing that pleases a taxi driver more, than being paid up front. I took the money and stowed it immediately out of sight.
At Mosside Road, he was on his knees scrummaging under the hedges, he found something, I caught a glint of metal as he hid whatever he had found inside his tunic. I locked the doors.
He came to the window. " Come on mate, I've already paid yie and the doors are locked, whit's goin on. are yie not letting me back in? I need to get to Edinburgh."
"What have yie put in yir tunic?"
" It's my bayonet, I shouldn't have it, it's against military law to take equipment from the base, but I took this, (He produced the, to say the least, intimidating and frightening looking "Bowie knife".) Cause I thought I would need it. Blackburn's a rough hole mate and my wife is from here. Her family stay in that house there."
He pointed to the house behind the hedge, where he had fished the bayonet.
" You have to appreciate, I can't have you sitting next to me, or even in this car holding a weapon, I would be mad to let you back in the car," I offered him the £ 20.00 note, he refused.
" Mate, I really have to get to Edinburgh. Will you please take me?"
" Right, give me the bayonet, I'll put it below the mat at my feet and when we get to Edinburgh, I'll give it back to you."
He handed the bayonet through the window, I put it under my feet and opened the doors.
" I need to have that bayonet back mate, I'll get into serious trouble if I don't bring it back to base."
" It's no problem, when we get to Edinburgh I'll give it back to you."
He got in and we headed for the motorway.
" Base to bravo three."
I picked up the microphone. " Paul, have you just picked up in Blackburn for Edinburgh?"
" Aye, Helen, I have, why are you asking? And how did yie know?"
The controller was uncharacteristically dry. " Okay Bravo Three, Please turn your radio off, I say again, turn off the radio, over and out."
Oh My, I thought, all very formal, what's wrong with her?"
I turned the two-way radio off as we headed at a smooth eighty mph up the M8 for the city.
The soldier began to talk; he seemed agitated and kept turning his head as if trying to see behind him. He was fiddling constantly.
" I'm just recently back from duty in Northern Ireland driver. I was over there for six months. When I got back to base at Doncaster, the guys were all ribbing me, saying my wife was putting herself about with an officer, while I was on the wall in Ireland. I asked her and she said it was a load of rubbish. I couldn't leave it mate, we had a massive fall out, and she left me and came home here with the baby to Scotland. I've come up to try to sort things, I'll have to try again, it didn't work. Her father and brother interfered, I got angry, well you know the script mate, it all went to hell."
He continued to tell me all about his troubles and how upset and stupid he had been. By listening to, and believing the lies of the guys, who were just winding him up. I nodded and sympathised at all the appropriate points and we carried on.
I drew into St Andrews Square and stopped at the kerb. " The bus station is just in there mate."
" The bayonet mate, I want it, I'm not leaving the car without it."
" Aye, yir gettin the bayonet mate. The procedure is, you step out the car, I'll put the blade underneath the car and drive away, when the car is gone, the bayonet will be lying on the road, you pick up yir equipment after I'm gone, It's that way, or nae way mate."
" Don't run over the bayonet, I don't want you to damage the thing, Yie better not run over it mate."
He was getting anxious again. " Don't panic, I assure you, I'll toss the knife well under, the car wont touch it, believe me."
I couldn't have cared if the car mangled it; I wasn't giving him the weapon while he was still sitting beside me. He got out and I leaned under the Sierra and lobbed the bayonet underneath.
When I came back up, the world had turned on its head. Blue lights were flashing, and there were police and soldiers running everywhere. Two big fit looking soldiers had my fare on his stomach and were tying his hands and feet with plastic tie-wraps. He was struggling, but getting nowhere.
A big policeman put his face in mine and bawled," reverse, ten feet, and stop. Do not, under any circumstances leave the vehicle."
I obeyed his orders, as the bayonet was revealed, a copper scooped it into a plastic evidence bag. He walked over to me and said. "You've handled this, we will need you to come to Livingston Police station to have your fingerprints taken, Can you go there straight away?"
I nodded. As I left the scene, I could see at least three Sherpa vans and four marked police Granadas, and two unmarked, all with blue lights flashing. I looked in my rear view mirror just before I turned onto George Street, the soldier was being bundled into a Sherpa van, and the doors were slammed shut.
My fingerprints were taken at Livingston, and before I left, I asked what had happened. The soldier had come up from Doncaster to try to rescue his marriage as he had previously told me but when he said it had all went to hell. He wasn't kidding, he had stabbed his Father in law, his Mother in law, his Wife and Brother in law. None were too seriously injured, though the baby of eighteen months had been accidentally cut with the bayonet during the fracas.
The police had followed me in two unmarked cars, overtaking in turns, to try to see what was happening in the taxi. They thought I was the guy's hostage. I asked why they wanted my two way radio turned off. They said he could have used it to make demands if I was his hostage. By taking the radio out of action they assumed he wouldn't think to use it, out of sight...etc. I went home and slept the sleep of the just. It was just another Saturday night driving taxis.
Archived comments for Three Punk Rockers, A Soldier and a Bayonet. Texasgreg on 01-04-2013 Three Punk Rockers, A Soldier and a Bayonet. Aye! Can I have my bayonet back now? I do hope this was your imagination, Duke... Greg π Author's Reply: 
Greg, great to hear from you again. Nope! this is all true, even the punk rockers and the guy laid flat with the take-away. It all adds to a more picturesque life. Thanks very much Greg for popping in. Duke. Weefatfella. Fox-Cragg on 01-04-2013 Three Punk Rockers, A Soldier and a Bayonet. In short, bloody hell !!! Great account, I guess you taxi drivers up in your neck of the woods have Hummers. Again, another terrific read. Thanks, Paul Author's Reply:
Thanks Paul, for cutting bye and sharing your views. You're very kind. Weefatfella. ValDohren on 01-04-2013 Three Punk Rockers, A Soldier and a Bayonet. Quite a story WFF - could have been nasty !! At least your job obviously isn't boring. Congrats on the nib, well deserved. Val Author's Reply:
Thanks Val. I appreciate you looking in. Weefatfella. Hekkus on 01-04-2013 Three Punk Rockers, A Soldier and a Bayonet. An absorbing piece of writing from start to finish. I want to read more of your stuff. Author's Reply:
Thank you for your very kind comments. You're very gracious. Weefatfella. Savvi on 02-04-2013 Three Punk Rockers, A Soldier and a Bayonet. Really enjoyed this and the flash backs you tell a great story very well written. S Author's Reply:
Cheers for your very generous comments Savvi. They are really appreciated. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 03-04-2013 Three Punk Rockers, A Soldier and a Bayonet. Another great story from you WFF. I am so pleased that all turned out well for you. I really think if you strung all these together they would make a great book; with a bit of editing and a glossery of terms and language π ha! ha! Mike Author's Reply:
Ha! I already have a set of my earlier work my daughters published on kindle. Weefatfella's Wondrous Weavings. Have a look MIke. Thank you for your kind comments Mike. They are appreciated. Weefatfella. pommer on 03-04-2013 Three Punk Rockers, A Soldier and a Bayonet. What a great story. I can imagine that the life of a taxi driver is never without its dull moments.I am certain that it can also be quite frightening at times, particularly in large cities.A really absorbing story. I agree with Mike,your stories would make a great book.Well done once again.Pommer. Author's Reply:
It's a hard life driving taxis. We are told by our parents "don't to talk to strangers." we go about picking them up in the middle of the night when they are drunk. Thank you Pommer for your thoughtful comments. Weefatfella. Ionicus on 03-04-2013 Three Punk Rockers, A Soldier and a Bayonet. Paul, another quiet night for you. Or so you make it sound. I am impressed at how you seem to take everything in your stride. A good, enjoyable read. Thanks. Author's Reply:
Thank you Luigi. As I mentioned at the beginning of the story, most people are fine. If you act as if you are going to get trouble, you definitely will. I keep a smile on my face. That's my greatest defence. Thank you again,for your caring comments Luigi. Weefatfella. ChairmanWow on 05-04-2013 Three Punk Rockers, A Soldier and a Bayonet. Well WFF that was one scrappy slice-of-life. Had me going and wondering what next. Like the way the cabby held his own. Good work. Ralph Author's Reply:
.Cheers Ralph. Sometimes one has no choice. A cabby can't afford to be afraid. All you have to do is, try to control the situation if possible. Thank You For your generous comments they are appreciated. Weefatfella. |
| Rabbits (posted on: 29-03-13) Some things are better kept secret. Especially if they're Rabbits. 
Rabbits.
My youngest daughter Jen, and her husband James, at last are pregnant. They have been 'trying' for some time and have struck the target. The big man is ecstatic, he can go to bed and sleep now, which contrary to most popular beliefs, is really what most hard working men want to do.
Jennifer has a pet rabbit and like most newly pregnant women, anything that could possibly be a threat to her, or her baby, has to go.
" Dad, will you ask if any of the taxi drivers want a rabbit? I'm giving Honey away with all her equipment. I don't want anything for her. Just say to the guys, 'she's free to a good home'."
" I will Tootsie, nae bother."
I drew alongside 'Mad Rab' on the station rank. Rab, is to say the least, slightly oddball. He does strange impulsive things; I was sitting reading on the rank.
Rab chapped my window saying " Start counting, A'm doing ma exercises."
He started to run at full speed round the rank. On the way, he pulled a woolly hat from his pocket and deftly slipped it on. After tying the straps under his chin, he stuck both arms out like an aeroplane and slalomed in between six bollards, smiling all the way. He was wearing loose and untied size eleven boots with steel toe caps, this was making his 'exercises' difficult, as Rab takes size eight. The boots were slapping the tarmac like clowns shoes, threatening to trip Rab up. The run was made even more demanding, because Rab was holding his left hand out as though gripping the reins of a horse, while his right was whipping his arse, Like a small boy playing cowboys. He managed three laps before he came breathing heavily up to my window and asked,
" Whit have yie counted up tae?"
I'd stopped at one hundred and twenty after lap one, " Eh, three hundred and sixty five Rab."
" Oh, that's good, that's quicker than yesterday."
He bent down to catch his breath, while he was doing this; I took the opporchancity to broach the rabbit question. The ensuing conversation was confusing to say the least.
I put most of the bewilderment down to my own naivety. " Rab, dae yie want a rabbit?"
" Whit kind of rabbit?"
" A rabbit rabbit, you know, a rabbit."
" The kind the wuman have?"
" Well, aye, A suppose it's mostly women that have them Rab, aye"
" Naw, she's goat wan."
" She can have another wan, they like company they tell me."
" A don't think so, A don't think it would like company? Naw it widnae like company at aw."
" Aye, they're sociable wee animals Rab, they live in wee communities in holes in the ground. "
" Yir no hearin me Paul, it's a rampant rabbit ma wife's goat"
" That wid be fine Rab, aw the better if the rabbit yir wife's goat is male, this wee rabbit ae Jen's, is female, it's called Honey. It wid probably be very happy wie a rampant rabbit, she's been on her own since she wiz young, she might be really pleased wie a rampant rabbit for company. And yie could sell aw the new, wee baby rabbits."
" Naw, A wish yie wid listen a wee bit, the wife's rabbit's goat a finger."
"A whit?"
" Aye, it's goat a finger, at the side of it."
" Rab, does your wife's rabbit take batteries?"
" Naw, it plugs intae the wall."
" It's no as cauld the day Rab, as it wiz yesterday, is it?"
"Naw."
Archived comments for Rabbits Andrea on 29-03-2013 Rabbits That had me chuckling out loud - frightened the sprog! I don't care about your mistakes anymore, I just love your tales π Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea. You've made me laugh noo.. Weefatfella. Fox-Cragg on 29-03-2013 Rabbits Took me a while until pets from Miss Summers came to mind. Good run to the end thanks. Paul Author's Reply:
Cheers Paul. Chuffed you enjoyed. Weefatfella. OldPeculier on 29-03-2013 Rabbits Another cracker. Thank you. Author's Reply:
Thanks for dropping by O.P. Weefatfella. Griffonner on 29-03-2013 Rabbits Nice one! I think you changed the subject at just the right moment. π Author's Reply:
Cheers mate. Thank you for your kind comment. I was embarrassed. ( Teee,Heee). Weefatfella. Ionicus on 29-03-2013 Rabbits An amusing tale which entertained me. There seems to be a laugh a minute on the taxi ranks. You should keep up to date with female mores, Paul. Maybe you'd like to read a little effort of mine from 2006: Rabbit Fever - http://ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=17229 My Book Author's Reply:
Thanks very much Luigi. I Will have a read at your book. I hope I don't catch the fever mate? Weefatfella. shadow on 30-03-2013 Rabbits This is very confusing - rabbits with fingers? I have a strange feeling I am missing something here - could someone explain (with diagrams if possible)? Author's Reply:
Yes. They have to use their fingers, cause they've mixeduptheirtoesese! One diagram as ordered>>>>>  .
Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 31-03-2013 Rabbits I don't know what made me laugh the mist here your story or your reply to shadow Ha Ha! Another great tale my friend ( and you won the boss over). Mike Author's Reply:
Cheers Mike. Thanks for dropping bye. Weefatfella. BigIan on 31-08-2013 Rabbits How did I miss this? My mate's wife is forever buying batteries. Ever Ready? Aye, she's insatiable! Nice one weefatfella! Ian Author's Reply:
Aye ever ready right enuff. Glad you enjoyed it. Weefatfella. |
| The Ginger Ninja. (posted on: 25-03-13) Ernie was red-headed, five foot seven and built like a bootlace. His ambition was to be a cage fighter. 
The Ginger Ninja.
The snow, falling slowly, was being whipped from side to side and up and down by the freezing air current. The whole country was at the mercy of the Siberian wind charging bleakly down from the north. The cutting, chill wind was touching places and taking liberties where it was entirely uninvited. I shivered as I turned the cab's heating up.
I nodded over to Ian, 'Greengrass', implying " It's bloody freezin, A'm pittin the windae and the heating up.''
He nodded in agreement and we both raised our windows and hopefully the inside temperature.
Ernie drew onto the back of the rank and stepped out of his cab. He was wearing a black, short-sleeved T-shirt with a cage fighting logo. He had a polystyrene coffee cup in his left hand and a cigarette in his right. He swaggered down the rank heading for a blether. I reluctantly lowered the window a couple of inches.
Greengrass, sitting alongside me in his cab laughed, saying, " it's bloody Baltic, and that arse is only wearing a T-shirt."
I, smiling, nodded.
Ernie stood in between the two cabs and said, " Awrite n that boys? How are yiz? Makin yir fortunes ae?"
" Aw aye Ernie, A huv tae use the back door noo, a cannae git in the front door for piles ae tenners blockin the vestibule. Yirsell?"
" Aye, A'm dain okay. A got a job intae Edinburgh, when a telt the guy the price wiz thirty quid, he said, 'here yie go big man, huv the fifty, A enjoyed yir patter.' Then a got an Airport tae bring me back. Guy wiz at Las Vegas, said he won a fortune there. A charged him ththirty quid, he never batted an eye."
Ernie's coffee cup was starting to shake; the coffee was spilling down the sides and onto his hand. He drew on his cigarette and shivered.
I noticed his legs shaking and said, " It's a bit cauld the day Ernie, whit dae yie think mate?"
" Och naw. A've been oot in ccaulder than ththis man, A ccome frae Fife, us Fifers don't ffeel the ccauld."
Ernies arms were covered in goosebumps now and his eyes and nose were running. He took a sip of his coffee and squirmed his face up.
" Aw that's ffreezin noo mman." He emptied the cup and threw it away. His nipples were threatening to burst out of his shirt and his legs were impersonating Elvis, he couldn't possibly take much more of the cold.
" A'll huv tae ggo noo boys A'm bburstin ffurra ppish, it must be aw that ccoffee."
With that, he turned and quivered his way back to his cab. Greengrass and I put the windows up.
Ernie was always affecting tough guy mannerisms. Tossing his cigarette ends away with a sneer on his face. He would swagger as he walked, sticking his whooping cough chest out, and when he stopped, he would scan from left to right while moving his neck like a chicken. When he spoke, his mouth would curl to one side, as if he was whispering in his own ear. He used what he thought were wise-guy phrases,
"By ra way n that", "ma man", and "awright n that?" The whole lot combined, served to make him appear the opposite. Ernie was harmless to everyone but himself.
I remembered in the summer I was at the front of the rank, a motorbike drew noisily in and stopped in front of me. The rider stuck his thumb up at me. I just looked at him, or her. Two thumbs now went up, and the rider pointed at himself, as if to say," it's me, don't you recognise me?"
How could I possibly recognise the person with a helmet on and a dark visor covering the face. The rider lifted the visor. A squashed face looked out at me, and the thumbs went up again, I hadn't a clue who this arse could possibly be.
The helmet came off and Ernie, smiling at me, said, " did yie no recognise me mate?"
" Aye, A dae noo Ernie, noo that yi've taken the spacesuit lid aff." He looked at me strangely; he looked at everyone that way.
" Sorry mate, how are yie?"
"A'm livin wie ma brother in Stirling noo. Aye, A came hame fae work last Saturday morning and the locks hud been changed, Kirsty hud pit ma claes and ma washin intae black bin bags and chucked them oot. A lifted the Glesca suitcases and threw them in the back ae the taxi. A could see her and another big ugly bastard at the bedroom windae. A fired a single digit at them, and drove tae Stirling."
Ernie was his own worst enemy, he constantly told lies about his fighting prowess. He worshipped Club and Pub Bouncers, and desperately wanted to be one. At five foot seven, red headed and built like a bootlace. The chance of Ernie intimidating anyone was nil.
His passion was watching cage fighting, he wore the merchandise constantly and even installed a bendy light in his cab, trained to shine on his shoulders to reveal the cage fighting logo there.
According to him, it kept the trouble down. " When they see that cage fighters logo oan ma arm man,they think twice, in case A git angry. They widnae want tae see me angry."
Ernie had started an argument with another driver, over nothing. The driver concerned would have picked Ernie up and snapped him like a stick, but he laughed off Ernie's supposed anger and told him to get to 'Falkirk.' Ernie ran to his cab to get his cage fighting gloves.
" What are they Ernie? I said.
" Eh, these are my cage fighter gloves, A'm in trainin and don't want tae git ma knuckles scratched aff the big man's teeth."
" Ernie, sit in yir cab mate, that big guy will kill yie, he used tae dae booth fighting and he made a lot ae money from it. Just stay in yir cab the day mate and maybe Derek'll forget all about it."
" Aye, maybe yir right ma man, A'm a wee bit tired the day, A've been oot workin fur hours."
The eejit always seemed to get things so wrong. " If A get a bugger in the caur givin me oanny agro, A jist tell him, Listen By ra way, shut up, or A'll draw the motor over tae the side Ae the road, and then we'll see who the tough guy is ma man. That always shuts them up."
A few weeks later I saw Ernie with two black eyes and a thick lip. I didn't ask, but his bluff had obviously been called.
That summer, Ernie again turned up on his bike, sporting a purple goatee beard and moustache, and with a new girlfriend in tow. They stopped at the front of the rank and Ernie gave the bike an extended rev, to say hello before climbing off. As he brought his leg round, he caught the girl a good whack on the ribs with the heel of his boot, nearly knocking her off the bike. She grabbed his boot and twisted it hard.
Ernie held tightly onto the handlebars and called " No Gill, not that, not here, wait till we get back home."
She pushed his leg away and lifted her visor. As it lifted, her nose flopped out. It must have been six inches long if it was one. Gill turned and surveyed the drivers who had come along to meet them. All stared at this proboscis in astonishment.
Ernie piped up, " We've just came frae Stirling, it only took us fifteen minutes."
Stirling is twenty-five miles from Livingston as the crow flies. I would have to give myself forty-five minutes minimum for that journey.
" No way Ernie, you can't do Stirling from here in that time, what speed were you doing?"
" A hundred and twenty, maybe a hundred and thirty. It's a very fast bike, and comfy, isn't that right Gill?"
" Oh, I don't Know Ernie Babes, I was sleeping most of the way."
Well there was one silver lining, Ernie had met a kindred spirit, I hope they have a great life and Gill Keeps him on the straight and narrow.
Archived comments for The Ginger Ninja. Fox-Cragg on 25-03-2013 The Ginger Ninja. Very vivid, comes to life and for once getting a view on people from different parts of Scotland, some arder than tuthers. Real good read, with several lol, Thanks. Paul Author's Reply: 
Thank you very much Paul, for your much appreciated feedback. The Reference to the' boss'is the lovely Andrea. She virtually ,as far as I can see, runs these shenanigans single handed. Thanks again for reading and commenting. Weefatfella. OldPeculier on 25-03-2013 The Ginger Ninja. WFF. If I am totally honest, I have, in the past, struggled with some of your tales from the taxi rank. I found them a bit confusing and I feel they sometimes wander off the point a bit. But this time, I think you have nailed it. It is well set out and free from the sort of clutter that can put simpletons like me off. More like this please. Author's Reply:
Thank You Oldpeculier for you input, I will pay closer attention in future. I'm very pleased you were able to enjoy this one at least. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 25-03-2013 The Ginger Ninja. Another great tail from you, I just love them, I'm never sure if I get the right pronunciations but I just don't care! Mike Author's Reply:
I do agree with Oldpeculier. Sometimes the vernacular can be a bit offputting. I am working on it as we speak. Thank you for your always gracious comments Mike. Weefatfella. geordietaf on 25-03-2013 The Ginger Ninja. I love these stories. I know the vernacular can cause some problems but I think they add loads of atmosphere. Ernie's character is well drawn. I love the nipples bursting and the Elvis legs. These tales strung together would make a good book. Author's Reply:
Thank you taff for your generous comments. I'm really pleased you are enjoying my weavings. I'm tyrying to find a happy medium with the vernacular. To make the tales more readable. Again Thank you. Weefatfella japanesewind on 25-03-2013 The Ginger Ninja. It's better in the vernacular, loved this one...D Author's Reply:
Thank you very much David, for your again, generous comments. Weefatfella. stormwolf on 26-03-2013 The Ginger Ninja. HI WFF You have me in stitches. If you are not from Glesga then you have been especially gifted in the lingo. I think you could write plays...I really do. I am useless at giving any sort of meaningful crit on prose but I know what makes me laugh out loud and you do. I think a sense of humour is just the best thing ever. You have it in shed loads. Mrs WFF is a lucky woman. A sense of humour can see us through the worst of times...even the total mess the country is in! there are a few typos etc but I think it's worth a 9 for skill and incredible insight. When I read about this bit "A lifted the Glesca suitcases" I nearly fell off my chair laughing. Alison x Author's Reply:
Alison, I know you don't read prose and I thank you very much indeed for dropping in. your presence and your comments are greatly appreciated. I come from Wishaw. Maist Wishae folk are a wee bit nuts. It's the Buckfast, we are breast fed it but only as children. I hasten to add. Weefatfella. RoyBateman on 27-03-2013 The Ginger Ninja. You paint a really vivid picture of the sort of character that most of us have come across at some stage - in a world of their own, and maybe that's no bad thing: to find a kindred spirit is lucky indeed! I can just see 'em roaring off into the sunset, at just over 30 but imagining they're doing a ton. Great comic read! Author's Reply:
Thank you Roy. Coming from yourself these comments are very encouraging. Thank you very much indeed for dropping by. Wot no omewerk? Weefatfella Ionicus on 27-03-2013 The Ginger Ninja. A very amusing tale, Paul. I too don't read prose very often but when I see WFF I'll have to take a look. Cheers. Author's Reply:
I know Luigi! Thank you very much indeed for your always encouraging comments. Weefatfella. |
| Differences. (posted on: 18-03-13) It is our differences that make us unique, we should celebrate them. 
It is our differences that make us. We should rejoice in friends who are unique and celebrate the differences that determine us and make us who we are. I have a great friend who is different. He is quiet and reserved; he speaks well and is tall and muscular. I don't know exactly what women look for in a male but I believe, Jock has at least some of the requirements.
Accepting that, it still amazes me that he chose the path he did. I was under the impression in my plukey youth, that all men had the same agenda: A visit to the pub with the mates, a game of something, pool or cards and during this, drink would be consumed, lies would be told and friendships cemented.
Afterwards, if required, some would have a fight, to determine or rearrange the pecking order. Then it was the discotheque or late night venue with a live band. Where it was possible with just the tap of a female's shoulder, to grasp her tightly, and if you were lucky, a quick grope before a rushed sloppy coming together, where body fluids and diseases were exchanged.
If you wanted more, you could try asking the preferred female to stay up with you on the dance floor, to continue the ritual. If this was accepted, the possibility arose of, a long walk home after a cold, embarrassing thrusting of pelvises in a bus stop, or up a close somewhere. There was also the fear of maybe having to 'go all the way'. No man worth his salt ever admitted to never having done 'it' before, so, any lame excuse was used to disengage.
" Aye. Well, this has been great hen, but A'll huvtae walk yie tae yir hoose noo, A've goat a big gemme the morra and A'm the number one striker. The manager says we've no tae huv sex on the night afore a gemme. A'm awffie sorry, Whit wiz yir name again?"
" It's Senga.- Aye Lover-boy, yie better walk me hame. Let me tell yie by the way, there's mare chance ae you scorin the morra, cos yie were never gonnae score here the night.
Of course the following day in the hostelry, the lie was, you had stayed in her penthouse tenement flat, where all manner of debauchery had taken place. You were extremely tired but were looking forward to more of the same tonight. This is how it is. This was the world I grew up in. Homosexuality only existed in books and sometimes, not often, on the telly. I didn't know any Gay people; I hadn't met any and nobody I knew had either. We lived in an insular world of, day shift, back shift and night shift at the steelworks.
Meeting Jock changed my whole concept of the world and what went on in it. Here was a man who went his own way, a man who disregarded the norm. Not for him the run of the mill life of drudgery. Where work, drink, sleep and work was the way of things.
Not for Jock, the meet girl, marry, have kids and die life. That was what we all had accepted, and indeed, looked forward to. Jock had other ideas. He fancied sheep. The lonely life of the sheep shagger was what appealed to him. Jock when in his cups would, regale me with tales of his escapades and his preferred positions. The 'Close and Tight' position was his favourite. This is where the back legs of the Ewe are trapped in the wellies preventing escape. The sheep is placed facing the lover, with front legs over the shoulders. One has to be fit and supple to perform this. Preparation is all when attempting this rewarding position, Jock says.
You will need, a strong pair of trouser braces. The most reliable and durable braces can be sourced from Army and Navy stores at a reasonable price. If there are no Services Stores near you, an alternative and extremely hardwearing pair, can be obtained at reasonable cost, from Debenhams or Marks and Spencer. The more expensive pair is better, and helps the performance a great deal, as the cheaper variety could snap under pressure.
Attach the short Y of the braces to the front of your trousers. Throw the remainder over your shoulder and clip them at the back of your trousers, or belt preferably. Grab the Ewe, and after trapping her back legs down the wellies, lift her up tenderly and place her front legs over the shoulder. (A light affectionate kiss wouldn't go amiss here, to calm her and help her relax) gently pull the braces round her body, effectively securing her to you and warming you both.
Now, with great care and ensuring to keep the spine straight, bend down, and grabbing both back legs, free them from the wellies. Your ready appendage should have been released prior to grabbing the ewe's legs. Raise them to waist level and slip the legs into the braces, remember to loop the legs into the twisted braces for a firmer grip.
Penetration is now possible and one may use the braces like a bungee chord. When the braces are at their extended limit, a strong upward thrust by the legs will force the braces to spring back quickly, by keeping a close rhythm one may effect an easier and stress free experience. The closer one can get to perpetual motion the better.
There are more positions and helpful hints in Jock's pamphlet. This is available on Amazon, entitled ' Love On The Wild Side'. I myself have tried it only once. Sadly, although the experience was insightful, I don't have the level of fitness required for a long-term relationship.
 Archived comments for Differences. Mikeverdi on 18-03-2013 Differences. Oh dear! I am rendered speechless. This (I hope) was from your fervent imagination, If not then I trust you had the sense to pick a pretty one π Mike Author's Reply:
Just as the heading says. Plain Daft. I was working yesterday as I passed some sheep the noise of the car frightened them . As they ran, I commented to my passenger. " The one at the front is quite attractive, don't you think? " " Yes", he said," she has a certain something." When I came home. This fell out of my head. I hope you are not too shocked Mike. It's just a bit of nonsense. Honest. Weefatfella. ChairmanWow on 18-03-2013 Differences. "Baaaa-aaaa" means No! (: Author's Reply:
Yip means yes. Just a bit of hilarity Wow. Having a larf. Weefatfella. Kat on 19-03-2013 Differences. I wasn't expecting where this went with Jock, so a clever red herring thrown in, and you've certainly got some good patter and enjoyed the humour. Of course, my feelings were totally with the poor sheep, and graphic as this was, I think you've described something that happens (perhaps not quite as you portray here), and again, I really feel for those sheep... ! I believe in consenting partners. You musy be a fun taxi driver... we need people like you in Germany... haha (I wish I was joking). Kat Author's Reply:
Thanks Kat, I think we need to have fun wherever we are. I enjoy a laugh everyday. Some of my passengers enjoy it some are quiet . When they don't talk I don't talk. { Taxi Driver Etiquette ) Thank you for reading and more importantly commenting. It is appreciated. Weefatfella. japanesewind on 19-03-2013 Differences. Funny as hell this, and if my poem "disturbed" you then you have just paid me back, awww man why did I read it, hahahaha......David Author's Reply:
Thanks David. I have to apologise to you. I may have had one Glenmorangie too many last night. Which may have influenced my comments. I hope you weren't exasperated with me. Yours in repentance. Littlerotundchap. japanesewind on 19-03-2013 Differences. Exasperated? not on your nellie, you were a "pussycat". Give me stronger critique where and when i need it and as you "see" it and I will be your faithful servant.............D Author's Reply: Griffonner on 19-03-2013 Differences. Oh my gawd! I shouldn't have kept on reading, really. π But I did, and that is either from a sense of fascination, or disbelief of the technicalities. Erm... that last bit doesn't sound right! We have a field of sheep at the bottom of our drive, and I can assure you it would defy belief if Jock could even contemplate maneuvering any of those scraggy (and smelly) things. I think you deserve points for both the quality of the write and the nerve. π Author's Reply:
Thanks G, for your striking reply. It's all in the name of humour. I love a larf, and I can assure you this is all imagination. The technicalities of " Animal Husbandry " are a mystery to me ....Thankfully. Thanks again for reading and commenting and your very generous rating. Weefatfella. orangedream on 19-03-2013 Differences. Speechless...me, and so are the sheep in the field next to my garden, but they did say to tell you, 'Baaaa..." Tina;-) Author's Reply:
Thank you for your stunned response. No domestic animals have ever been harmed by any part of my body. I love animals! Thank you for dropping by Tina. I hope to stun you again soon. Thank you also, for the Baaa from your friends. Please forward my number to the most attractive Ewe. It is 9555333000. Weefatfella. |
| The Road To Lugar. (posted on: 15-03-13) I picked a fare up I could have done without. 
The Road To Lugar.
It was three fifteen am, Sunday morning, and winter 2002.
I was stopped in my Ford Mondeo Taxi, at Bathgate traffic lights, daydreaming, when the passenger door opened, jolting me back to reality. A big yellow and blue Hawaiian shirt was parking itself on my passenger seat.
The owner, pished, looked me straight in the eye and asked. " how much tae Lugar mate? I need tae git tae Lugar."
I looked at the guy; he was at least six foot something. If he had come from Ayrshire wearing a Hawaiian shirt in mid-winter, odds were, bouncers had parted him from a large company. It didn't look good. "A hundred pounds mate". I told him.
I didn't want the job, he measured up to bad news, so I had quoted high, hoping he would say no and get out to look for a better deal.
" Brtiliant mate. Yir twenty quid cheaper than the last guy. Can yie take me to the cash-line and I'll git yir cash?"
" Aye ok pal, there's one just round the corner."
While he was at the hole in the wall, I hid my night's takings under the mat at my feet, leaving ten quid as a decoy in my cash bag. When he came back to the car, I radioed the office to let them know where I was going. He gave me the money; I put it in my bag, which I placed under my feet, out of sight.
Off we headed for Lugar. On the way, he was telling me, how he had, a top of the range BMW. His girlfriend was a page three-glamour model. He was in the SAS, and was on compassionate leave at the moment, due to having to kill three IRA men at a farmhouse in Dungannon, with his bare hands. He continued to over elaborate on this story, getting more and more manic in the telling. Eventually, after saying he was awarded the Victoria Cross posthumously, he stammered slightly, and thankfully slunk down in embarrassment.
His mobile rang, it was his friend asking where he was." I'm in this babes car,"
I looked at him; He winked at me and leered like a guy in an ice cream van full of puppies.
He continued, " Aye I'm just gonnae stay in Bathgate the night, is that right hen? She's nodding. I'll see you at work on Monday Geordie, Aye, awrabest mate. A'll huvtae go. She's goat her haund oan ma thigh man, A think she's tryin tae attract ma attention. Right mate see.ya. "
He turned to me, " Aye, yi've goat tae keep yir credibility mate, hint yie?"
" Aye that's right pal "
He began playing with his phone. " A'm lookin through ma list ae possibilities mate, know whit A mean?"
" Aw aye mate. You batter oan, A'll kep ma eye oan the road."
His glamour model girlfriend, being like big stars at award ceremonies, must have been unavailable. We came to the Y- Junction just after Stonehouse. " Whit way is it mate left or right?"
" Left mate, take the left fork."
The left fork headed into the Ayrshire hills. I was hoping to avoid this route, but I didn't know where Lugar was exactly.
"Hello there doll, how are yie?"
He had found someone on the phone and was gibbering away. " A'm in a taxi Sylvia, Aye, A'm aboot ten minutes away, A'll be right there tae soart yie oot babes. Are yir parents at hame? Naw, even better gorgeous. Right, you git yirsell aw fired up, and A'll be right in tae take yie tae the gates ae paradise, A've goat the key in ma troozers poacket. Bye ra way, huv yie oany alcohol ? Okay, Aye the Jack Daniels'll dae jist fine babes .Ya belter."
He closed his phone and began to look out of the window into the dark and misty countryside. Turning to me, he asked, "whit's that wee box there for?"
" That's my link to the office mate."
" Is it satellite linked?"
It wasn't, but I lied. " Aye it is, the office know where I am within three meters."
" A don't think so mate."
He went quiet, and his demeanour changed dramatically. The mood in the car became suddenly sinister. He sat upright and became deadly serious. There was no hint of alcohol now. He turned and rested his arm on the back of my seat.
He looked me straight in the eye." Listen mate, this is a long dark road, and you're a long way out of your area."
I had his hundred pounds in my bag, plus, he thought, whatever I had made that night. He was trying to intimidate me. Trying to see if I would fold. As far as I was concerned, my back was to the wall. I couldn't show any weakness. If I did, I would lose everything. I had to keep control of the situation.
I gave it my best shot. "Aye, it's a long dark road right enough, but don't worry mate, A'll no dae yie oany harm."
With that reply, he smiled and shook his head. I smiled back.
He sat back, and sighed, before saying. "You should see Sylvia mate, she's absolutely gorgeous, and wie a body tae die fur. See in bed mate, it's an amazin experience man. She's a durty bitch man. Woohooo." He clapped and rubbed his hands. She wiz miss Ayrshire last summer man, she's stunnin, and wie a great personality. Doon here mate, aye, stoap at this wee farmhouse."
He got out of the car, closing the door hard behind him, I hit the central locking and lowered the window for a better view of Miss Ayrshire 2001.
Sylvia came running out of the cottage like a Ninja. I believe there are no people who are ugly, there are only beautiful people, Sylvia, was definitely the exception. She latched onto his Hawaiian shirt like a fishing Osprey. With practised moves, she whipped one hand round the back of his neck, while the other disappeared down the front of his trousers. Using her forward impetus, she bent him over as if feeding on him. His arms went limp and dropped to his sides, his legs shot straight out and started to shake. After what was an age, Sylvia released him. He stood and shook his head and after wiping her saliva from his mouth, he began to gather himself. She took his hand and lead him dazed, towards her boudoir.
As they reached the cottage door,I called, " Miss Ayrshire? Mair like Miss Ayrshire Bacon mate. fill yir boots big man, enjoy yirsell."
Archived comments for The Road To Lugar. Mikeverdi on 15-03-2013 The Road To Lugar. Reading all your 'Taxi Tales' has given me a new respect for the driver's. Not a job I would do in a million years....but I love reading your stories! Mike Author's Reply: 
Cheers mike, I appreciate you reading my drivel. Taxi driving isn't all bad I've been doing forty tears, so I have millions of stories. Weefatfella japanesewind on 15-03-2013 The Road To Lugar. what a dude to pick up, class tails he spun eh? funny as hell, met a few like him in my time. my mate "spinner" comes to mind first.... "fill yir boots big man" had me laughing good style.........D Author's Reply:
Aye, a complete corcker. I meet them all the time. It's 5am, I'm just leaving to meet some more. Sat mornings can be shady. Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment D, appreciated. Weefatfella. Nomenklatura on 17-03-2013 The Road To Lugar. Ah.. Weefa... I see you met the Incredible Bull-Shitting Man. Many of his cousins are out here on the Costas. They board the one way flight to Malaga a builder's mate and arrive as a Master Builder who helped build the Olympic Stadium. You show very well what kind of guy your passenger was. Great idea to use the phone call to underline his (lack of credibility). Well done regards Ewan Author's Reply: 
Thank you Nom, for reading and for your very kind rating and comments. Aye these guys can be laughed at but this guy did exist and was a wee bit dangerous. Still, with all my years experience I escaped unharmed. I appreciate you looking in. Weefatfella Rupe on 17-03-2013 The Road To Lugar. I don't envy you your job, but as you say you must get some good stories out of it. This works really well, I reckon - the character is built up bit by bit with telling detail, and tension grows with that, which makes the ending a bit of a relief & a good sting in the tail. Rupe Author's Reply:
Thank you very much indeed Rupe for dropping by. I appreciate your comments and yes the phone call helped as you say. I have to admit though,I didn't plan the story, I just told it. The technicalities of story telling, are a complete mystery to me. Sometimes what turns out surprises me also. Thank you again for your kind comments. I'm learning all the time. Weefatfella. Andrea on 17-03-2013 The Road To Lugar. Great tale, Wff! Victoria cross posthumously - haha. I once worked (amongst my many and varied jobs :)) for a minicab firm in London. My god, the sights you saw! (watch those excess commas :)) Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Andrea, for dropping in and for your very kind rating and comments. I do appreciate it. Comma point taken. I'm trying , Very Trying. Weefatfella. Griffonner on 17-03-2013 The Road To Lugar. A really fine tale. It described the 'type' to a tee. π At one time I had a plasterer friend, and if he'd done half of what he claimed he'd have been awarded that Victoria Cross your fare mentioned - several times over! I felt sorry for him in a way. Keep up the good work. (Mind you, as has been said, I don't envy you your job!) Author's Reply:
Thanks for dropping by and for your generous comments and rating G. I enjoy Taxiing ,it restores your faith in human nature. I have only recently started to write and I'm learning all the time. Again your time and comments are appreciated. Weefatfella. Pronto on 17-03-2013 The Road To Lugar. Oh how I enjoyed that tale mate. It brought back memories of picking up three drunk guys at a pub all going to different houses. I was left with a big aggressive Irishman muttering about "Britsh bastards." He got out of the taxi without paying me then staggered around the front to my window asked how much piad in full and gave me a fiver tip which was bloody good tip in 1973! It was still an hour before I stopped shaking! π Author's Reply:
Cheers mate. Aye, It can get to you. I always remember, they will shout and rant but very seldom will they strike. All you have to do is try to remain looking strong and they will walk away. Thanks for reading and more importantly commenting it is appreciated. Weefatfella. |
| Taxi-ing. (posted on: 11-03-13) A Normal Saturday Night Working The Taxi. 
Taxiing.
The great thing about driving taxis is, you never know what's next. I had been sent to the Lizzie Bryce fuel stop for a fare. A half pished, baldy guy opened the door of the hack and got in.
" A want tae go tae Philpston big man, A've nae money, but A'll leave yie this watch, it's worth fuck all, but A'll leave it wie yie oaniway."
He was holding his arm up and had drawn his Matalan sleeve back, revealing the cheap scrap metal ticking away on his wrist.
" Oot mate."
" Whit?"
" A said, oot, git oot the motor, this taxi isnae gone anywhare wie you in it."
" A'm no gittin oot, so yi'll huvtae take me tae Philpston."
He sat down and petulantly folded his arms. I cancelled the job and the pad beeped, giving me another job to go to.
"Are you gittin oot or whit?"
" Naw, A'm sittin here, and A'm no gittin oot till yie take me tae Philpston."
" Well A've goat another Job and A'm goin fur it,so sit there if yie want."
I left the petrol station with the guy sitting in the back and staring out the window.
I turned the roundabout and headed for Dedridge.
" Where are you going big man?"
" A'm going fur a hire in Dedridge mate, A've told yie, this taxi's not going to Philpston, dae yie want me to stop and let yie out?"
" Naw, A want tae go tae Philpston. Eh, -- who are yie pickin up in Dedridge?"
" A don't know, A've only goat a name and an address. It might be a wee lassie goin hame fae her boyfriends, or it might be two or three big arseholes goin tae a pairty, A wont know till A get there."
I stopped at the roundabout to give way. I lifted my foot off the brake and said, " the doors are open if yie want tae use them?" the buzzer sounded and the interior lights came on as he opened the door.
" Yir an arsehole," he said, while slamming the door.
The new fare weaved out of the house and walked along the crazy paving as she stomped towards the cab. A wee Jack Russell and a clinking carrier bag accompanied her. Her face could have made her a fortune.... Haunting houses, I got out and opened the door for her, not because I'm a gentleman, I wanted to check things out. I was scanning and sniffing for tell tale signs of fluid leakage.
There was a strange pungency, but everything else seemed in order. As she stepped into the hack, it tipped about twenty degrees and ten pounds of air shot out of the back tyres. I was hoping the seats wouldn't burst when she sat her huge arse on them.
" Where are you goin hen?"
" Bathgate please"
I stopped outside her house. She was slumped and drooling on the back seat. The wee dog was patiently waiting.
" Hello, hello, you're home. Excuse me, HELLO!" I banged on the partition.
" Oh, right, s..sorry, Right Toby. Okay driver what do I owe you?"
" Eleven pounds sixty please. "
" Hold on, I'll have to let the dog out first." The back door opened, and wee Toby jumped down. I had turned round to look, and right in front of me was this huge, grey, cratered moonscape. The arse was enormous, with at least two huge volcanic pimples about to erupt. The crevasse, was deep, dark, and hairy, and was at least an inch and a half wide. The whole view was nauseous in the extreme. The lady turned and shoved the money through the pay point, exactly eleven pounds sixty. She pulled up her joggers and the cab lifted several inches as she stepped out. I sprayed air freshener through the pay point and u-turned.
At Bathgate rank, the Marshall opened the door to allow two guys in.
" Armadale big Yin.- Awright man?"
" Aye a'm awright. Yirsells?"
" Well naw, yie cannae git a wuman when yie go oot wie this horrible lookin bastard."
" is that right " I answered.
" Shut it you," said his pal." It's your crummy patter, haw mate! He hands a wuman ten pence,and says, ' Call yir Mum, tell her you'll be late in, cos yi've pulled'. That's ancient patter man. That's utter shite. It's no even 10p furra call noo, it's sixty, and oanywie, we've aw goat were ain fuckin phones noo. Who telt yie that auld line? Yir uncle Geordie, He's a fuckin patter merchant right enough."
The guy sat back in the cab and shook his head.
His friend, while punching him lightly on the shoulder,asked, " So whit's your great chat up line then?"
" It's no handin a wuman ten pence and.."
" Well whit is it then? Let's hear the great Don Juan ae the Dale's minted patter"
" dae yie want tae hear ma chat up line?"
" Aye "
" Yie want me tae chat you up, is that whit yir sayin?"
" Naw. That's no whit A'm sayin."
"Dae you hink A fancy you? A fancy your Natasha. Yie should see this driver, whit a pair ae.... and some a... Know whit A'm sayin? Noo there's a wumman A wid..... A nice lookin lassie your sister and well mannered. Oh Aye."
" Hoy, never mind oor Nat, and git yir haunds oot yir troozers. A wee bit ae respect when yie talk aboot ma sister man. The chat up line, let's hear it."
" Right, well. Yi've goat tae be unpredictable. Yi've goat tae say sumfin, that the wuman wullnae expect. Sumfin..."
" Will yie git oan wie it fur fuck sake?"
" Right, here it is. Are yie ready? "
He sat bolt upright, and extended his right hand, his face took on a sublime appearance, as he began.... Given that God is infinite, and that the Universe is also infinite, would you like shag?
Copyright © Weefatfella.
Archived comments for Taxi-ing. stormwolf on 11-03-2013 Taxi-ing. Pure dead brilliant! OMG you've got the gift o' the gab alright. The English may not appreciate the patter but I sure do! Alison x Author's Reply:
Thank You Very much Alison. I know you don't read prose often, so I appreciate you having a peek in. Also, for your always kind, comments. Weefatfella. Ionicus on 11-03-2013 Taxi-ing. It looks as if your job is a great source of inspiration for your writing. Your stories are always fascinating WFF though I have to concentrate on the lingo. Author's Reply:
Grazie per la vostra pazienza.Luigi Apprezzo molto la tua cortesia. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 11-03-2013 Taxi-ing. WFF I think the world you live in would provide material for a lifetimes writing. Great stuff again my friend Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Mike, your comments are appreciated. Weefatfella. Fox-Cragg on 30-03-2013 Taxi-ing. I've just got to get into your taxi one day, there is so much going on. And yes I agree with the others you should have enough material for a lifetime. Thanks for these, enjoy them muchly. Paul Author's Reply:
Thanks Paul, your comments are appreciated. I wish the whole world would get in my taxi, then I could retire. Weefatfella. |
| Stitches. (posted on: 11-03-13) A look back to my childhood. Not as bad as it would seem though. 
Stitches.
I opened the big heavy back door and looked outside. There were four big steps leading down to the pavement at the back of the house, I jumped and cleared all four. I landed flat on my baseball boots and jumped again immediately, into the long grass of the back garden. I stood up; the garden extended for fifty yards and was twenty yards wide. It was bordered to the left by a three foot paling fence, which separated the garden from the railway embankment, and to the right, by a tall chicken wire fence, designed to keep cats out.
Next door had two dovecotes, both painted blue and white. Big John Richardson the owner, was a Rangers man, the dookits wouldn't be any other colour. He kept racing pigeons and I would often see the big man out shaking his tin of pigeon feed and calling the birds in to get the ring off, to register the time they came in at. It wasn't unusual for the big man to shoot the pigeons down if the prize was worth it. The gun however, was more often used to shoot any stray cats that wandered too near the dookits.
John, armed with his very impressive air rifle, would sit at the upstairs bathroom window, with a cup of tea, or stronger, waiting to ambush a cat. When he was successful, he would bury the carcase under the apple and plum trees he kept behind the pigeon lofts. He used to say the success of his fruit trees, was down to the cats below the trees.
"It's the calcium,that makes fur great big, juicy apples. It's a fact."
He would spit, and draw on his always lit and smoking, black pipe. His wife Ella, used to harvest the apples at Halloween, and would make amazing toffee apples, which she would sell for a penny, but we who lived next door, got them for nothing.
The back of the garden bordered the railway line, and had a six-foot high wooden sleeper wall. I climbed the wall and stood on the top before jumping down into the undergrowth below. As soon as I landed, a pain, like an electric shock, shot up the inside of my left leg. I yelled and dropped to the ground. The pain was getting sharper and more intense. I examined my foot; blood was pumping out onto my jeans soaking them. My baseball boot and my foot were slashed when I landed on a broken bottle and the blood was shooting out onto my jeans, they were now black in colour and feeling sticky and heavy.
I carefully tried to remove the slippery bottle which was stuck half an inch inside my foot, I couldn't get a grip of the blood covered glass, on the second try, I managed to quickly wrench it free, the pain nearly made me pass out. I stood up and put my back to the sleepers. I was dizzy and feeling sick, but I knew even at eight years old, I had to get home. I didn't know it, but I had cut an artery and was in the process of bleeding to death.
I climbed up the wall and rolled over the top. Catching onto the top sleepers, I lowered myself down. When my left foot touched the ground, the pain shot up, making me yell. I limped crying, to the back door.
Grabbing onto the green rails at the side of the steps I slowly levered myself up to the door. I looked down at the steps and could see my bloody footprints coming up the stairs; I was starting to sway with the blood loss. I threw the door open, banging my mother on the head with the heavy door. She had been on her knees polishing the kitchen floor with red lead floor polish.
She jumped up, grabbed the tea caddy and whacked me over the head with it. I woke up on the settee with a blanket covering me, and my concerned Mammie holding my hand. She had wrapped a towel round my head, and another round my foot, which was still bleeding.
" Yir big brothers runnin doon tae git the Doactor. He'll no be long, it's no far, so the doactor will be here the noo."
She tapped me painfully on the head with her finger, as she said " Yie goat that, (prod) at the same time as yie goat that, (squeeze) on your foot. Noo, remember, A'll be here listening, so git it right."
" Aye okay Mammie."
The doctor arrived; I had three stitches put in my foot, and four in my head. I still have the scars today, physically anyway.
Archived comments for Stitches. Mikeverdi on 11-03-2013 Stitches. Always entertaining, I hope this is part of your life story and that there is more on the way π Mike Author's Reply:
Cheers Mike, I appreciate you looking in. Weefatfella Pronto on 13-03-2013 Stitches. An' let that be a lesson tae ye! Dinnae bang yer mammy aun the heed ye we scamp! Good write mate brought back memories of childhood tree climbing, knock-door-run, stealing apples and the local copper clipping my earhole! π Author's Reply:
Aye, dae whit yir Maw tells yie son. They were big heavy doors. Three inches thick and bordered with Aluminium. A copper tried tae clip my wee brothers ear, Joe leathered him. Big Boy oor Joe. Thanks for looking in mate. Weefatfella. |
| Boys will be boys. (posted on: 04-03-13) The known World at one time, consisted of how far a man could walk and be back home on the same day. Not any more. The world has become like a small town. We can visit the furthest Continent and be back home now, in time for tea. 
Boys Will Be Boys.
In the last few years, men from all over the world have joined us in the West lothian taxi trade. The banter on the ranks has, I'm pleased to say, improved. Now we have tales from, Morocco, Pakistan, Algiers and Iran. In between fares, I was regaling my Iranian friends, Meddie and Oscar, with some of the pranks, we as boys growing up in the west of Scotland, used to get up to, when after patiently listening to me, Meddie contributed with a tale from Iran.
Scotland. 1965.
The boys, spaced well apart, were walking down the street searching, when the shout was heard.
" Gote wan, found wan."
One of the gang was holding his hand up and laughing.
" It's a great big wan, musta came oot an Alsatian or a big collie, cause it's nearly three feet long man."
They all ran over to examine the dog shit.
" Yir arse Jojo, aye, it's big but no awffie big and nae where near three feet, bey-ra-way."
" Well it's big enough and a bet yie when yie lift it, it'll be honkin."
Paul, Jojo's older brother, produced a flat stick and after kneeling down, he began to attempt the lift. He teased the shit up and slipped the wood underneath, the foul aroma floated up and into his nostrils.
" Ugh, that's stinkin man, that's absolutely mingin man, aw A'm gonnae vomit." He began to wretch and cough.
" Cumoan Paul man, git it in the boax, here,''
Owennie held an empty white shoebox towards him. Paul, with his face screwed up, tipped the huge dog shit into the box. They wrapped the box in gift-wrap and replaced the red ribbons, which they tied in a neat bow.
" Ha ha there's a lovely surprise fur yie, when yie open that in yir hoose misses."
A hope yir man's at his dinner, when yie open it misses. Aw, whit, that'll pit him aff his mince and tatties."
Jumping excitedly, pushing each other and giggling with anticipation, they made their way to the main street bus stop. There they would be able to stand hidden round the corner, but able to see who lifted the package. They stood and waited. Owennie, laughing, kicked Paul up the arse, saying, "you're a numpty."
Paul, still holding the box in both hands, so as not to shake the shit about. Side-kicked him back.
" Stoap that, ya arse, yi'll make me drap the boax."
" Here's a bus"
The number fifty six, big red Double Decker bus, with Shotts on the front, was coming along the road. Paul couldn't stop laughing as he ran into the bus stop and planted the package. The rest of the boys hid round the corner. Paul, still giggling, joined them. The bus stopped and a woman helped by the conductress, lowered a big silver cross pram down off the bus and into the bus stop. The woman began to tuck the covers in around the baby, when she noticed the parcel.
She looked all around and seeing no one, she picked up the box. After holding the box to her ear and shaking it, the mother tucked it under the baby's blankets. Then, while pushing the pram, she wandered off, leaving the boys in a state of euphoria.
"Woha. That wean'll be bowfin."
"That pram'll stink furra week man."
"That wuman's hoose, wull be absolutely bowfin man."
"Hey, whit if she disnae open it man, and she geeze it tae her man, man, furra burfday present man, and...." Paul put his hand on Jojo's shoulder to calm him.
" Settle doon Jojo, yir takin it too far and gittin yirsell aw excited. Oor Mammie says yi've tae stoap daein that, so yi'll huvtae settle."
Paul ruffled Jojo's hair. " Okay Jojo?"
"Aye, okay."
They all ran back up the hill towards the park, in search of entertainment and maybe, new victims.
Half an hour later, Paul was filling an old wallet with coloured paper. He pulled the corners of the paper out to the sides, making them look like notes. After closing the wallet,he tied a length of fishing line to it and ran towards his pals.
" Right A've done it and it looks brilliant man, where are we gonnae start tae dae it? Where's the best place tae hide?"
" In the wee road that goes intae the garages man, across fae the park, we can lie doon ahint the wee wall and hide wie the fishin line, and the rest ae the guys, can sit oan the garage roofs tae watch. It'll be brilliant man. Cumoan let's go." Owennie said.
Paul placed the wallet perfectly, just the right distance from the fence to be noticed and far enough away, so the paper would be mistaken for money. He joined his pal behind the wall, where they lay down like commandos and patiently waited. A fat guy came puffing round the corner. He was carrying a long and obviously heavy, roll of linoleum. When he spotted the wallet, he stopped and looked all around, before bending down to grab the prize. Paul, an old veteran of this game, kept his cool. He would pull the line, only when the guy's hand was an inch away. The fat guy stopped on the way down. The linoleum was slipping and threatening to fall. He was on a steep hill and he didn't want to lose his grip. He stood up and hoisted the roll over to his other shoulder.
The boys, both on the garage roof and behind the wall, were threatening to give the game away, with their giggling and laughing. Ready now, and with the linoleum better secured, the fat guy began to descend towards his goal. Just as his hand was about to grab the wallet, it shifted two feet. He jumped quickly to his feet.
" Where are yiz? Ya shower ae wee bastards, A'll kick yir arses fur that."
Paul and Owennie, were up and away, heading for the safety of the roofs.
The boys already safe on the garage roofs began to shout.
" Over here, lavie heid."
"Oan the roof, ya big fat, fanny."
"Haw you, wie the hair oan yir heid, yir baldy."
"Catch us if yie can, ya fud."
The fat guy, angrily threw the linoleum to the ground. The flooring rolled off the pavement and onto the road, straight into the path of the scheme bus. It caught in the back wheel-arch and was dragged for some distance, ripping and tearing as it went, it suddenly broke free and shot up spinning in the air. The retaining string had been shredded and the secreted scud books, the fat guy had hidden inside began to flutter about while, blowing kisses and showing boobs and bums to the world.
The lino, spread out, and flapped on the tarmac, like a landed fish. The fully loaded coal lorry, struggling behind the bus to climb the hill, slowly drove onto the linoleum. The wheels lost traction on the smooth polished surface. The driver gunned the engine. The added force made the wheels spin before catching. The flooring shot out and double flipped as it flew into the air, it became a huge butterfly, which made one glorious attempt at flight, before hooking itself onto the spiked fence of the park. The fat guy was franticly running around, trying to retrieve his night's entertainment, as the boys continued to taunt him.
Iran 1965.
At the same time,Three thousand miles away, in the holy city of Shandiz, Iran. Two ten-year-old boys were patiently waiting. Oscar was holding a jam jar lid, filled with hot mustard. Meddie, his friend, was making marks in the dust-covered road, as he swung a long thin whip-like twig. The twig, zipped in the air as Meddie called,
"Oscar, here's one now, you will have to hide yourself, while I distract the handler. Go."
Oscar dropped behind the wall he was sitting on and crouching, he ran to the far end, where he waited to pounce. Meddie walked towards the on coming donkey. The man was sitting high on the large sacks of grain, loaded on each side of the beast. The animal's head hung near the ground, as it endured the ordeal.
Meddie, now walking backwards, greeted the rider.
" Good afternoon sir, have you brought this little donkey a very long way with this very heavy burden?"
" Go away boy and attend to your Father's business, before I climb down off this beast and whip your buttocks.''
Just as he said this, Oscar had reached his goal. He lifted the donkey's tail and smeared a large splodge of mustard on its anus. The animal kicked and bucked, throwing the rider off and continued bucking from side to side and higher and higher along the road, in an attempt to escape whatever was burning its arse. The load was scattered all over the thoroughfare and the handler lay with his thobe, (Robe) over his head, and his bare arse exposed to the world, as the two boys, laughing, escaped the scene.
Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
That man to man, the world o'er,
Shall brithers be for a' that.
Rabbie Burns.Archived comments for Boys will be boys. Mikeverdi on 04-03-2013 Boys will be boys. If the stories are even half true you would want to be there. I suspect that there more than that; or you wrote the Arabian nights. Brilliant writing. Mike Author's Reply: 
Thank you for your very kind rating and comments Mike, I appreciate it. Sorry it's taken so long to get back to you. I have been tied up this week and have only just gnawed through the ropes. . Weefatfella ValDohren on 06-03-2013 Boys will be boys. All very funny WFF - feel sorry for that poor donkey though !! Excellent write, as always. Val Author's Reply:
Thank you very much indeed Val,for taking the time to read and comment. I do appreciate it. Weefatfella. shadow on 08-03-2013 Boys will be boys. Very funny. I always knew small boys were an alien lifeform. Though maybe you should add a disclaimer: no donkeys were hurt during the writing of this story. Author's Reply:
Well that's true, but 'ass' it was in Iran, it's out of our jurisdiction. Thank you shadow, for reading and commenting. It is Appreciated. Weefatfella. Andrea on 08-03-2013 Boys will be boys. Bloody loved it (as usual)! Author's Reply:
Thank you again Andrea. I appreciate you taking the time to read and comment. Weefatfella. Hekkus on 02-04-2013 Boys will be boys. Totally absorbing. I must have led a sheltered life; the most we got up to was postman's knock! Author's Reply:
Thank you for your comments H. There are some stories I can't tell. ( Like, Dressing a tailors dummy and hanging it by the neck from the bridge above the main road) Got chased by the polis that night. Weefatfella. |
| A Man's Man. (posted on: 01-03-13) Pat Kuralis, the new driver, knew all. We were all idiots and he was brilliant. All his eggs were double yokers. All his woman were beautiful, he was the best at everything......etc. 
The Man's Man.
I was sitting in my cab enjoying my first read of the long awaited sequel to my favourite, Robert Jordan novel, when my concentration was broken by the rank arsehole. This guy had appeared recently. In his early fifties, he had short, permed, grey hair, above his thick, unkempt eyebrows. His bright, deep blue eyes were his only redeeming feature, but on reflection, they were possibly manic. He suffered from a long, thin nose, which curled downwards and pointed to his well manicured and clearly much loved, (by himself) thick walrus moustache.
He always dressed in an open to the navel, short sleeved, white shirt, whatever the weather. His grey hirsute chest, proudly displayed, held a heavy bull's head medallion, which hung from a thick gold chain. His old-fashioned wrangler jeans and belt, put more than a shift in, to contain his overhanging belly. His name was Pat Kularis, which I'm lead to believe, means something important in an obscure African language, Dickhead, would have been appropriate.
He was at the side of the rank talking at, some of the drivers, who were getting a wee bit fed up, of his, I love me monologue.
He was busy, telling the guys how brilliant he was, how much of a man he was, how many women he had had.... etc.
" Aye that's whit A am, a man's man."
" A man's man, whit's that Pat ? gay ?"
" Howz it gay bein a man's man ?"
" Well, ma Maw's merrit tae ma Da, so, ma Da's ma Maw's man. That makes him a wuman's man, dinnit ? So, if you're a man's man, that makes you a gay man, fuckin obvious boyz, inntit, he's gay."
" A'll fuckin gay yie, ya wee prick, A'll huv yir arse fur that."
" Yi'll huv ma arse? See whit a mean boyz, Pat's a roarin poofta. A'll tell yie sumthin Pat, A widnae gie you a look at ma arse, if it wiz diamond studded. "
The talk continued on in this vein, with Pat getting, more and more angry.
I decided, not to stop it, but to deflect it. I stepped out of the cab and started towards"Petes Place" the cafe next to the rank.
" Awright boyz? Anybody want a coffee?"
This would be expensive but I had a plan. I had five coffees and two teas to get. " Anybody want a burger?"
No one answered, so I pushed Pat into accepting my offer. " Come on ya shower ae wimps, who wants a burger?
Pat, you're a man's man, you'll huv a burger wie mustard, that's whit real men have, burgers wie mustard, hunners ae good, hoat, English mustard. Aye, it puts hair oan yir chest and keeps away the cauld, is that right Pat?"
" Aye yir right Paul, A'll hae a burger. Aye, and pit some mustard oan it. Oh, and a wee drap ae tamata sauce. "
I went into the cafe and spoke to the owner, my mate Pete. He was standing at his cooker, stirring his wonderfully tasty, potato and leek soup, the smell filled the air, making my mouth water. I rested my hands on the counter and said,
" Pete, howz it gaun ? I need yie tae help me out here. "
" Aye mate, oanything, fur yirsell, how can A help?"
" Dae you have English mustard?"
" Course, A've gote, English mustard, and German, and Dijon. " I butted in.
" Huv yie gote French mustard?"
" Aye, whit's this, wie aw the fuckin mustard?"
" I'm gonnae soart that fanny Pat Kularis. He's always oan aboot, how great he is, and we're aw arseholes, and he's a fuckin man's man, an..." Pete butted in.
" Whit? Is he a gay-boy?"
" Ha, that's whit Gordon said tae him and noo he's goin aff his heid. Naw. Whit A want tae dae, is this. A'll fill wan burger roll, wie English mustard, lashings of really hoat and burny English, in yir face, rid hoat, nose-dripping, and eye fuckin watering, English inferno, ballistic mustard, and the other roll, ma roll, wie French mustard, really nice and mild and dead easy oan yir gub, wee, nicey nicey, Frenchy mustard fur me.''
" Paul, the badness is in yie right enough mate, but A'm evil. A've gote sumthin in the back-shoap, somethin that is ideal, fur whit yie want tae dae, tae the man's man. It's the hoatest mustard yie can git, it's nuclear, fuckin missile mustard."
" Aye, whit's it called?"
Pete, squared his shoulders with pride, and with a huge smile on his face, he revealed the name. " It's "Mad Dog" mustard."
" Right, git the bastard, A'll pay yie furrit."
Pete, always the business man, said, " Right, A'll git it."
He disappeared into the back-shop and I began to pour the drinks from the urn. Pete soon returned with a small, insignificant, yellow bottle with a black collar. The legend, 'Mad Dog 357 Extreme Mustard,' was emblazoned on the bottle.
''The three five seven thing, is because it's named efter the three five seven magnum fuckin gun, any mustard named efter a magnum gun, hus gote tae be at least dangerous, eh?"
" Oh, aye," I replied, as I opened it and poured a half inch dollop onto my palm. Looking at Pete, I asked. "Have you tried this?"
He nodded and said, "go on then, taste it, ya big fearty."
I licked the mustard from my hand. A hot, bitter and fiery explosion filled my unsuspecting palette. My nose began to run and my taste buds vanished behind a bonfire of heat.
"Wow" I coughed, " fuck--in--hell man, Whit's that made of ?"
I held my hand out and pointed to the sink, Pete smiling, gave me a drink of cold water while saying," Chillies, and Dragon's spit, A think, "
Using a tablespoon, I filled Pat's roll with the red hot Mad Dog. I scooped it on top of the burger, to a depth of at least an inch, before placing the covering roll on top, I remembered the tomato sauce and squirted a sensation inside. While I was doing this, Pete, in order to witness our strategy unfold, delivered the coffees to the guys. I filled my roll with the burger and squeezed a line of French mustard (I made very sure) round the outside. After taking a bite, I smeared a long smudge of mustard on my cheek, just next to my mouth and went outside to deliver the ordinance.
As I walked towards the man's man, I took another extravagant mouthful of burger and licked the mustard off my cheek, as I called to all.
" Aye, yie cannae beat a good burger, wie a right healthy dollop ae good, English mustard. That's the way tae dae it."
I handed the burger to Pat.
He took it saying, "thanks mate. Aye yir right, a good dollop ae good, hoat mustard, makes a burger aw the better."
He bit into the thing, the mustard shot out from the sides, going up his nose and all along his face. His eyes began, not to water, but to dissolve, the irises turned red, he became, albino. His eyes began to roll around, one went left, the other right, and a strange, animal bleating, came from deep within his throat. He wet himself. His nose turned deep purple and started to run, his hands began to tremble. He dropped the burger as his hands fell limply to his sides. He stood, staring into space.
The shaking, which had started in his hands, now affected his whole body. I was terrified; I thought I had killed the bugger. Pete, along with the rest of the guys, stood with their mouths open,staring at him, while slowly shaking their heads in disbelief. The man's man, still trembling, began to speak," wwater, water, I nnneed water, hhelp mme."
Pete, concerned, ran to the cafe and quickly returned with a jug of water. He held it to Pat's mouth and he gulped deeply. The water ran down his open chest and down to his feet, Pete kept pouring the life giving fluid into the dying man's man.
After some considerable time, he came to and started to cough. " ffuckin hell man, whit the fuck wiz that?"
" Eh,- Whit?- Did sumthin go doon the wrang way Pat ? Did sumthin stick in yir throat mate?" I sympathetically enquired.
" Fuck sake man. A'm no feelin well, A think A'll huvtae go hame?"
He staggered blindly, and white faced, towards his cab. One of the guys took his elbow and after guiding him to his cab, he opened the drivers door, saying, " you awright Pat? Are yie fit enough tae drive mate?"
" Eh? Oh aye, A'll be fine, jist leave me alane, A'll manage."
As he stepped into his cab, a tell-tale yellow diarrhoea smear, stained the cheeks of his arse and ran down the inside of his legs. He peeped the horn and waving slowly, he left for home.
Copyright © Weefatfella.
Archived comments for A Man's Man. Harry on 01-03-2013 A Mans Man. Memorable experience, Weefat. It's buried a little deeply in the idiom, but even a foreigner like me could get the tang of it. Author's Reply: 
Thank you very much for reading, and commenting Harry. I'm glad it was an experience. Yes it is very much in the Scottish Vibe. I'm very pleased you enjoyed it. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 01-03-2013 A Mans Man. Another great story from the master; Chillies and Dragon Spit... OMG ! Priceless my friend. Mike Author's Reply:
Cheers Mike. Master! I wish but thank you anyway mate, it's appreciated. Thank you once again Mike, for both reading and commenting. Weefatfeella. Nomenklatura on 02-03-2013 A Mans Man. Please take these comments in the spirit of co-operation in which they are meant. This is a good story - clearly based on real characters - written by someone with a good ear for idiom and dialogue. You represent the sound of the dialect well on the page. However, you won't get many reading until the end with your layout as it is. Give any dialogue a separate line. Look at this: Exposition goes on (and on). 'That's enough waffle,' someone says. 'What is?' Other bloke replies. Then it's back to the exposition. Resist the temptation to put utterances in the middle of a paragraph. You end up with short paragraphs, but hey, on-line readers have short attention spans. 'Do you see what I mean?' Ewan says. The other thing (I'm sure you've heard it before): telling/showing. You don't need to write "broken by the rank arsehole." You show us throughout the piece what an arsehole he is. You don't even need to mention "diarrhoea" for the denouement. "A tell-tale yellowish-brown smear" etc. etc. would 'show' what had happened, no? I wouldn't bother with describing his departure after that, but that's probably just me. Anyhow, I enjoyed reading this one, because it has the ring of authenticity. Keep on writing Ewan Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Ewan, for taking the time to help and for reading my drivle. I will take on board your excellent advice. Weefatfella. ValDohren on 02-03-2013 A Mans Man. Oh that was cruel WFF - how could you !! Teeheehee. Val π Author's Reply:
Thanks Val, the guy is a bad ass. I wont go into the details, but honestly. I only wish all of this was true and not embellished. Thank you for your comment and gracious rating. Weefatfella x Andrea on 02-03-2013 A Mans Man. Wff, much enjoyed. I suggest you digest Nom's comment though (although not literally of course), it's good advice π Author's Reply:
Thank you Andrea, I will take it on board. Thank you for reading and commenting. Weefatfella. Ionicus on 03-03-2013 A Mans Man. What a lot of pranksters you are up there in Scotland, WFF. I got the gist of the story but what an effort to understand the dialect; I am just beginning to make sense of the English language, let alone the Scottish idiom. Author's Reply:
grazie per avermi assistito ed essere stata li` con me tutto il tempo. L'ho veramente apprezzato. I hope i've got this correct Luigi. I hope it says, 'Thank you very much for taking the time and patience to decipher my Scottish weavings.' I am very grateful. Weefatfella. Ionicus on 03-03-2013 A Mans Man. Your translation is acceptable Paul. Mine is as follows: La ringrazio molto per il suo tempo e la sua pazienza in decifrare i miei intrecci scozzesi. Sono molto grato. Cheers, Luigi. Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Luigi. Weefatfella. |
| Extra Money. (posted on: 25-02-13) Russell needs to make money for Christmas and has a great idea. 
Extra Money.
Russell needed to make a shilling. Christmas was on the way and money was tight. The British Leyland factory at Bathgate was on short time; so making money through overtime was an impossibility.
He headed upstairs to the huge toilet block where he could hide from the gaffers and give himself time to think. He stepped through the swing doors and strolled into the massive toilet. The space was tiled in white from floor to ceiling; it was fifty foot wide and stretched for two hundred. The centre was filled with carousels for washing hands. The right wall, held long lines of urinals, interspersed with hand towels and baskets for paper towels. On the left, were double sets of cubicles.
Skivers were sitting on the floor with their backs to the walls, some reading, others in groups playing cards, or just chatting, to wile away the time. He found a space between the cubicles and sat down. Resting his arms on his knees and with his head against the wall, he began to wonder how he was going to change his luck, or his circumstances, when he heard voices from inside one of the cubicles.
" Yi'll huve tae turn round a bit, A cannae git yie right fae here."
" How can A turn round a bit? There's nae room? Yi'll huv tae manage fae where yie are."
" Fur Goad's sake this is hopeless tryin tae dae it here, A'm gonnae end up wie cramp in ma legs, A can feel it cummin oan the noo. Theyr'e starting tae tremble. A telt yie we should huv waited tae finishin time and did it in your hoose. It would have been quicker and mair bloody comfortable, and yie know A like tae see whit A'm daein in the mirror."
" Och fur fuck sake, the mair you're talkin, the longer it's gonnae take. Try and concentrate oan whit yir dain and it'll be over wie aw the sooner."
" Aye ok well"
Russell, was shocked, he looked about him. No one else seemed to have heard the two poofs in the toilet. He spotted a plastic mop bucket with the mop leaning against the cold tap on the wall. 'I'll stop this carry on,he thought, A'm no huvin two toe-touchers daein the business in here when A'm tryin tae soart ma fuckin life oot.'
He jumped up and grabbed the bucket. After filling it with cold water from the tap, he threw the water over the door of the cubicle.
Yells of, " for fuck sake man"
and " Ya bastard, whit the fucks goan oan ?"
Came from behind the door before it was pulled open, and two half drowned men came dripping out. One had a towel round his shoulders and the other was holding a comb and a pair of scissors. The guy with the towel stared at Russell, who was still holding the bucket.
" Whit the fuck did yie dae that fur? Are yie goan aff yir fuckin heid or sumhin?. Yi've jist fuckin soaked the pair ae us."
Russell took in the towel, and the comb and scissors, but even now, after realising his mistake he had to tell the truth.
" Listen boys, A thought yiz were two 'Harry Hoofs' huvin it aff in the lavie there, it sounded awffie like it by-ra-way, It did, honest tae God."
The guy with the scissors answered, " A wiz cuttin his hair fur fuck sake. We were hidin in there because, if yie dae it oot in the open, everybody wants their hair cut, and by-ra-way A'm no a fuckin poof, and neither is he. Urr yie Davy?"
Davy, holding his hands out and shaking his wet head, answered." Fur fuck sake, A try tae git ma hair cut fur the legion dance the morra night, this fuckin hydro-maniac, throws a bucket ae water ower me, as if a wiz a dug ootside daein somthin inapprpriate in front ae the weans, and you, ya fuckin arsehole, ask me if A'm a fuckin poof, A'm no huvin a great day the day, am A?"
Russell, after making his apologies, slinked away back down the stairs, dropping the bucket as he went. The two "lovers" watched him go with wide eyes and shaking heads.
Russell worked away till finishing time and after clocking out, he strolled into the car park. A guy was opening his boot, he removed a magnetic taxi sign and stuck it to his roof, and then he opened the driver's door and drew a cable from inside, which he connected to the sign. He got in the driver's door and the sign illuminated.
Russell stared in amazement. The answer to his problem was right in front of him.
''That's whit A'll dae, A'll drive a taxi. A'll make a bloody fortune in nae time. Those guys are aw loaded, whit, wie there fancy shiny caurs, they must make a fortune right enough. Aye that's the answer.''
He drove home and took the yellow basin from the kitchen sink. He found black paint in the shed and painted
'For Hire' on the basin. He took a piece of wood and screwed a strip light to it, before securing it to the inside of his For Hire sign. He attached a wire, which he connected to a switch inside the car.
The basin sat precariously on the roof, he took two elastic luggage straps and after connecting them to the basin, he stretched them and secured them to the gutters. He leaned inside the Cortina and switched on the sign. The basin shone brightly, with the words "For Hire" perfectly illuminated.
"Ya dancer", he pumped his hands and mimicked, " eh! Where to folks? Whitburn. Okay, that'll be a fiver then. Whit's that? Take the tenner, Thank you very much."
He slapped his hands together and danced around the garden. 'A'll make a fuckin fortune,' he thought.
That night, Russell jumped in to his Cortina "Taxi" and drove to Harthill Main Street. He stopped outside the Doxy public house with his 'begging light' illuminated. It wasn't long before two couples approached him and after opening the doors they got in. Wullie Jameson sat beside him in the front.
" Oh it's yirsell Russell, A didnae know yie were a taxi driver ma man."
"Oh aye," answered Russell, A've been dain it a while noo, where are yiz gaun?"
"Eh, Whitburn Miners Club mate thanks." And so it began.
He worked away for two or three hours, he had made an easy thirty pounds and was thoroughly enjoying himself, until, suddenly, a blue light was spinning brightly behind him. 'Shit, he thought, just when I was doing well, these fannies, have to turn up.'
It was the traffic cops. Russell pulled in and got out of the car, he stood beside the driver's door and waited. The two cops put their hats on and began to walk towards him. One policeman walked around the car, while the other stopped to chat.
" Evening Sir, having a busy night?"
" A busy night? Whit dae yie mean Officer?"
" Wie yir taxi here, are yie having a good night? Are yie making a fortune?"
" Taxi? Whit taxi?" asked Russell.
The other cop was pinging the luggage rack elastic; he looked over to Russell and asked, " How long have you been a taxi driver Sir?"
" Whit is this? yeeze keep askin aboot taxi's, whit urr yiz askin aboot taxi's fur? "
"Yi've been drivin in between Harthill and Whitburn aw night, pickin people up and takin them here and there, that's taxiing, is it no?"
" A've drapped a coupla mates aff at the Whitburn Miners Club, that's aw, that's no taxiing."
" yi've gote a taxi sign oan yir roof Sir, diz that no make yie oot tae be a taxi ?"
" A've gote a basin oan ma roof officer, no a taxi sign"
" But it clearly says 'For Hire' on it Sir."
" Aye A know" said Russell..." The basin's for hire."
Archived comments for Extra Money. Mikeverdi on 25-02-2013 Extra Money. Brilliant! Author's Reply: 
Cheers again Mike. I'm pleased you're enjoying it. Weefatfella. Texasgreg on 26-02-2013 Extra Money. Duke, yer gettin' stronger and more bold all the time! Aye, your writing is so much fun to read when you let yourself be free with the words of color. Still grinning from reading your first and will now have to stop and wipe the tears from my laughing eyes... Greg π BTW-Your closing line killed me! .Author's Reply:
Aw cheers Greg, I enjoyed this one myself. Really glad you had a laugh. Weefatfella. ValDohren on 26-02-2013 Extra Money. Brilliant WFF, your stories are getting funnier, and I am beginning to speak Scottish now !! All set for my hols in Scotland this year. Keep 'em coming. Val π Author's Reply:
Wow! Thanks you so much for your very generous Rating Val. I hope you enjoy Alba (Scotland) in the summer and the weather is kind to you. fΓ ilte gu Alba Val. Weefatfella. whatacutebum on 26-02-2013 Extra Money. Loved it WFF, nice one π Author's Reply:
Thanks again Si, also for your very generous rating. Weefatfella. cooky on 26-02-2013 Extra Money. Hilarious, them scottish coppers will believe owt. Author's Reply:
Wow! Cooky, Thank you for the generous and big hearted rating. I wish they would. Weefatfella. |
| Parallel Universe. (posted on: 25-02-13) In the wee hours of the morning. There are things known only to Taxi drivers, psychiatric nurses and Police officers. 
Parallel Universe.
There is a twilight world, or a parallel universe, that runs very close to our world. This universe is so close, that during rare instances, like a full moon. The two planes can merge, or overlap, and strange things can happen. Sometimes, unsuspecting human beings are victim to this crossover. The only people, who have any knowledge of this phenomenon, are taxi drivers, psychiatric nurses and the police. I, as a taxi driver, have been witness to these weird and wonderful events.
It was a cold February morning, around five thirty am, in Livingston. Light snowflakes, as they floated serenely down, began to absolve the thoughtlessness, of a drunken end of the month Saturday night.
The pristine white snow was covering the discarded pizza boxes and chip pokes, along with cans and stray bottles. I was returning through Eliburn, on the tree-lined Alderstone Road, heading towards the train station, when the two planes collided.
A disembodied left hand, sticking out from the bushes, was insistently and desperately, flagging me down. I'm a taxi-driver I stopped for the hail. The hand belonged to a naked guy. He broke cover. He was wearing a black t-shirt with a bejewelled necklace effect, and nothing else. His right hand, was pulling the short t-shirt down to a point, in a futile attempt to preserve what little remained of his dignity. The sharp cold weather was doing him no favours.
This hermaphrodite was adopting, I thought, a very strange gait. With his body bent nearly double, and his head pointing straight ahead. He took amazingly fast tiptoe steps across the snow-covered ground. His bare feet were a blur. I locked the doors as he warped towards me and lowered my window enough to facilitate 'first contact'.
The naked guy tried the door, and finding it locked, he came to my window, shivering. " Hi, mate,"
" Aye hello" I replied.
" Yi'll huv tae take me tae Blackburn mate, A'm fuckin freezin."
" A don't huvtae dae anything mate."
" For fuck sake big-man, yie can see the predicament A'm in."
" Aye."
" Will yie take me tae Blackburn?"
" Naw. "
" How no?"
" Yi've nae money."
" How dae you know A've nae money?"
" Cause yi've nae pockets mate."
" A've gote money in the hoose in Blackburn. When we git there A'll give yie the fare. Whitever it is."
" You know the rules mate. Afore A let yie oot ae the cab at Blackburn, yie huvtae leave sumthin, if yi've no gote oany cash. Whit urr you gonnae leave? Yir ex-woman's T-shirt? A don't think so?"
" Aw cummoan mate, A'll gie yie thirty quid."
" Yie huvnae gote thirty quid, yi've nae money ataw."
" Well, whit did yie stoap fur?"
" Fur a laugh mate."
I began to draw away. He pleaded one more time.
" Aw please mate, please, take me to Blackburn. "
I waved my hand out the window. As I drew away, he made a very well known rude gesture, using his middle finger. An idea came to him, and he turned round and mooned me. Arsehole, I thought.
Copyright © Weefatfella.
Archived comments for Parallel Universe. geordietaf on 25-02-2013 Parallel Universe. Fantastic. Love the the little details that give it real grounding. The dialogue is brilliant too. Author's Reply:
Thank you Taff for your kind comments. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 25-02-2013 Parallel Universe. I just love reading your stories, its a brilliant look at life in the Taxi lane and I love it! Mike Author's Reply:
Thank you very much indeed Mike for reading and your kind comments. Weefatfella. Kat on 25-02-2013 Parallel Universe. Enjoyed this. Again, the vernacular and the humour are well done. Nurses know of this parallel universe too... the things that can happen in a psychiatric hospital at the best of times, but then, with a full moon... and that's just with staff. Kat x Author's Reply:
I'm so sorry Kat, of course Nurses are in the loop. Just an oversight on my part. Glad you enjoyed it. Thank you also for your kind comments. Weefatfella. Andrea on 25-02-2013 Parallel Universe. Hilarious, WFF, loved it. Few stray things such as 'His right hand, was pulling the too short t-shirt down to a point' (His right hand was pulling his short t-shirt down to a point) and I'd have written the very last sentence thusly: Arsehole, I thought. But leaps and bound, my man, leaps and bounds π Author's Reply:
Well, am A chuffed or whit? I really appreciate your input here Boss. I have attempted to tidy up my weavings and I'm so pleased you noticed. The arsehole thing, was in reference to what the character was seeing, as he drove away. He had just been mooned. ( Goad A'm gittin bold). I hope I'm correct here. The t-shirt, of course Andrea, I'll make amends. Thank you very much for your very kind and instructive comments, they really are appreciated. Weefatfella Andrea on 25-02-2013 Parallel Universe. Yep, got the 'mooning' bit. Bloody funny (and I do like it the way you've amended now. The 'arsehole' comes first, so to speak :)). Either way, cosmetic stuff now WFF, you are doing so amazingly well I know you can sort the rest out:) Author's Reply:
Shucks!.x. ValDohren on 25-02-2013 Parallel Universe. Great stuff WFF - very funny. Didn't you feel a wee bit sorry for the arsehole though ? Val π Author's Reply:
Hi, Val. The truth is, I spotted the naked guy when he crossed in front of me on the road. I already had a fare and we both laughed at the guy, as he swept past and into the bushes. I never really spoke to him. I made the whole thing up. However I agree he did seem worthy of sympathy but that was my fault. I have always wondered how he got into that condition. Did the husband come home early? Did he have amnesia? Maybe you could help here Val ? Thanks for reading and commenting, I look forward to the answer. Weefatfella. ValDohren on 25-02-2013 Parallel Universe. I'd go for the husband coming home early option - amnesia ? Naw !! Val Author's Reply:
Ha! big fearty!!! Texasgreg on 26-02-2013 Parallel Universe. I'm still a little pissed that ya left me out in the cold like that... Lol, your imagination and wit came through again, my friend! This was my first reading of the day and glad of it. I'll chuckle all morning. Greg π .Author's Reply:
Hi Greg. Great to see the gunslinger back on my page. I've missed him.It's also good to hear from you again my mucker. Hanks furra comments big-yin, A'm fair chuffed. Weefatfella. ( Duke ). japanesewind on 26-02-2013 Parallel Universe. loved it...."fur a laugh mate"...class......D Author's Reply:
Thank you D for reading and commenting. Really chuffed you loved it. Weefatfella. whatacutebum on 26-02-2013 Parallel Universe. Ha ha, that was brilliant! Ehm...wisnae me, wis it? Author's Reply:
Hi Si, Thank you for reading, commenting and your very generous rating. Yes It was you Si but I promised not to tell. Weefatfella. Pronto on 26-02-2013 Parallel Universe. As someone who once drove a taxi in the way-back-when I found this very amusing. Not that that happened to me but some strange folk inhabit the night that's for sure. Great story WWF do write some more! Author's Reply:
Thank you P, for reading and commenting. I intend to write as many as I can but I have to wait till they pop into my head. " Beware of the business that walks in the night " . Weefatfella. |
| A Chip On The windscreen. (posted on: 18-02-13) The trouble a bag of chips can cause when handled correctly. 
A Chip On The Windscreen.
The young women came along from Morrison's supermarket, she was wearing pink jeans, a pink t-shirt and a pink jacket, her trainers were pink and she was pushing a pink babies buggy holding a wee pink baby dressed all in pink, with pink ribbons in her hair.
Obviously taking wee Sigourney to Knightsridge for her Grannies thirtieth birthday party. As she approached the taxi rank she turned the buggy towards the taxis and smiled. Boabby jumped out of his shiny black cab and as he opened the door to let them in he said,
" Aw lovely lovely wean hen, who are yie watchin her fur?"
" Aye", she said "she's really braw in't she"
Boabby opened the door and after laughing and shaking his head he drove away. I was next, in jumped Jessie the lovely barmaid from the Cawburn in Pumpherston.
" Hi, Jessie" I said, " A take it yir gaun tie yir work? And have you just had your hair done?"
Jessie smiling began to push her hair up and shake her head like a model from the tele adds and answered,
" Aye A'm gaun tae the pub and naw a huvnae jist hud ma hair done, why?"
"Aw it's jist somethin A thought yie should maybe think aboot."
I dropped her at the pub. On the way back I nipped into La-Capanna the local chip shop and took advantage of the school kids offer of any supper and a can of Barr's American cream soda for two pounds. It was a beautiful summers day and I fancied a sausage supper. If the Sweetness and my daughters knew they wouldn't have been happy. Anyway, what the eye doesn't see...etc.
I drew onto the rank and began my feast. As I enjoyed my repast I watched Stucky chamoiing.. chamoising ...drying his cab. It was gleaming and he had that smug, I've just washed my taxi look on his well lived in face. I threw a few chips onto the road in front of him hoping to attract some seagulls with dysentery which would take the smile right off ae that face.
Two appeared on cue on the roof of Morrisons directly above his cab, ya belter. One glided down like a German Focker to grab a chip, relieving itself on the way, right smack on target. Mission accomplished. Stucky's right on it, with window cleaner and rag in hand he began to clean it off while moaning
" Durty bastards, Goad A've jist this minute dried ma caur and these bastards turn up, Yie wid hink they planned it."
Boabby his son-in -law is right out of his cab and pointing at me says,
" Naw that arse Hawthorne planned it,"
he bent down and picked up one of the remaining chips and threw it at my windscreen. Boabby is a very good footballer, but that's where his skills end. He missed my car by a good distance and hit Roberto's windscreen, he had also just washed and polished his cab and the trail of grease from the chip left a three inch smear along his otherwise spotless window.
Being a petulant bugger Roberto throws his daily titties away and bounds out of the cab shouting
" Aw for fuck sake Boabby."
He came over to me, and with his hand out he said.
" Right geeze some chips."
I complied by holding the paper out to facilitate his not unreasonable request. He grabbed a handful and threw them at Boabby's windscreen, they squelched along nicely, enhanced by a wee bit of sausage, aiding lubrication and leaving a greasy ugly smudge. Boabby went nuts. I pragmatically held the chips out. He came running over and grabbed the lot.
Taking the chip poke Boabby slapped the open chip paper on Roberto's windscreen and rubbed it all over the window, then he proceeded to treat every window on the cab in a similar manner.
Stucky fired up his taxi and buggered off shaking his head and laughing as he escaped the scene. Roberto was standing with his mouth open and his hands on his head.
" Ya fuckin arsehole, ya fuckin idiot, fur fuck sake A cannae believe you did that."
Then in a flash he picked up what was left of the chip poke and walked slowly and resolutely towards Boaby's cab.
" Naw Roberto, naw cumoan noo."
" Fuck off Boabby you started this so A'm gonnie finish it."
He smeared every window on Boabby's car. Boabby just stood there with his hands in the air while shaking his head.
The Pad, which gives us work from the office, began to beep on Roberto's dash. I shouted over to him as he was arguing with Boabby about who started all this.
" Yir pads going dae yie want the job?"
"How can A accept a joab A cannae see oot ma windaes fur Goad sake."
The beeping stopped and Boabby's pad began to go with the same Job. As he was in the same predicament he put his meter off rejecting the job. My pad began to go, well my windows were fine, so I pressed accept, the screen read: Deans industrial estate Cooper and Lybrand for Jones: going to Waverley Station set Fare = £ 30.00.
I fired up my engine and peeped the horn to say excuse me, Roberto and Boabby were still arguing as to who started the nonsense. They both turned to me and asked where I was going. When I told them. They both shook their heads, the lights came on, and together they both said pointing at me.
"hawd on, it wiz you that started aw this shite ya bastard."
I, feeling it to be prudent, accelerated away, well I had a job to go to and I would probably stop for chips on the way back.
Archived comments for A Chip On The windscreen. Kat on 19-02-2013 A Chip On The windscreen. I really enjoyed this, and now I want fish 'n' chips. Kat Author's Reply:
I'm pleased you enjoyed it Kat and enjoy your chippies. Thank you very much for your comment . Weefatfella ValDohren on 19-02-2013 A Chip On The windscreen. Guess you were feeling chipper that day - great story, could just picture the scene. Val π Author's Reply:
Thanks Val. For reading and commenting. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 20-02-2013 A Chip On The windscreen. You are so good at this stuff, brilliant! Author's Reply:
Thanks again Mike. I worry that because I get very Little comments, my stuff i must be rubbish but you have cheered me again. Thank you. Weefatfella. expat on 21-02-2013 A Chip On The windscreen. I've said this before, wff, you've got a real talent for storytelling. The question is... how far do you want to take it? If you're happy enough to post here and keep us entertained, that's great. On the other hand, if you want to take it further (and I know you've put a Kindle set on Amazon), then I reckon the mechanics need a little tweaking in respect of construction, grammar and punctuation. I think it would be critical that your (sometimes raw) approach to writing wasn't interfered with because therein lies your appeal. I've read some stories by well-known humourists that aren't half as funny as yours. Maybe you could offer one of your pieces up for gentle critique. They've already got a lot going for them and you could make them even better with some polishing. π Steve Author's Reply:
Cheers Steve. I appreciate your comments and I have sent you a p.m. with my thoughts. TheBigBadG on 22-02-2013 A Chip On The windscreen. Steve is right - I seem to remember saying something similar about the yarn-weaving back when you were posting stories about the steel-mills. You've either got a great memory for amusing moments and funny friends, or a sharp eye for the absurdities of everyday conversation. You always remind me of my friend (the policeman with the gypsy wedding story) and he's a great raconteur. You're just like I wish Alan Bennett was, in fact. Sure, the mechanics need tightening up, and I realise that can get expensive quite quickly, but the important elements seem to flow out of you with ease. George Author's Reply: I'm completely gob-smacked and very honoured indeed by your wonderful comments George.
The thing is, things can only get expensive if you have the money to spend, so I don't have that problem. I will try to learn as quickly as I can and make improvements as they become apparent. Weefatfella. Andrea on 22-02-2013 A Chip On The windscreen. Agree with both George and Steve on all points π You're a fine talent, WFF - hone it and make it great π Author's Reply:
Thank you also Andrea for your help and support. As I said to George. I will endeavour to improve and keep an eye on what I am being told. Weefatfella. |
| A Dangerous Choice. (posted on: 15-02-13) An old alcoholic takes a serious risk. 
A Dangerous Choice.
" Curdy, haw Curdy, ya auld bastard, waken up."
The auld bastard he was yelling at was sitting slumped at the table in the Shieldmuir Bar. I didn't think Curdy was as old as folk thought he was.
He looked seventy but the drink and hard living had taken its toll. The 'Auld Bastard', had a flat cap pulled down over his face and he was wearing a very shiny pin-stripe suit, with a faded and frayed dirty white shirt. The collar was open, revealing a filthy yellow semmit. His fly gaped above his straight crossed legs, at the bottom of which flopped a pair of steel toe capped boots. The leather had been worn away on both boots and the steel caps were shining through the holes at the toes. Both hands were in his trouser pockets.
The bar decor was no better. The place was run down, Doreen, the cleaner, only came in on a Sunday and Wednesday morning for two hours. She brushed the flagstones then ran a nearly bald mop round the floor to keep down the dust. The place hadn't been decorated or painted in God knows how many years. The walls were hung sparingly with old black and white photographs of the local steelworks, intermixed with group photos of men at work and play
The island gantry was circular, oak, with angels and cherubs carved in the uprights. The shelves dirty mirrors reflected dusty wine and spirit bottles on the surfaces. There were stained glass panels intermittently placed showing steelworkers at work doing various tasks, reflecting the local industry.
In the centre of the gantry a large round black and white clock with a marbled face and only one hand proclaimed " NO TICK". A long double line of optics with impressive and middling expensive spirits hung from the wood. The counter held a group of five pumps on each side with different types of ale, beer, stout and lager. The brewer's logo Tennents, was represented with a large red T on each pump. Thin bar towels were staggered round the surface with ashtrays and ceramic water jugs in between.
At one time this alehouse would have been very splendid indeed but dirt and grime and the years of neglect had taken their toll. The ornate bar sat in the middle of the space surrounded by rickety oak playing tables. These were drinking tables with a second surface underneath to hold the drinks, keeping the top clear for cards or dominoes. Both were played on a regular basis and for serious money.
Sitting on the table in front of Curdy, was a pint tumbler holding a half-inch of warm beer. It was 6.30 am, the pub had been open all night but Big John Black had only just came in, he was looking for Curdy to put his betting line on for him as he was going to work and wouldn't be near the bookies all day. Cassidy's 'Shovel' was next door to the pub making it easy for the auld bastard.
John picked up the near empty pint and laughing quietly to himself and while keeping an eye on Curdy, he urinated in the tumbler, taking the liquid content to half full, grinning, he handed the now warm tumbler to Alex the barman and asked him to top it up with light beer. Alex turned his back and filled the tumbler from a pump on the other side of the bar. He shook his head as he handed the pint to big John, who placed it on the table in front of Curdy. He kicked the auld guy's feet. Curdy woke with a jump, he sat bolt upright and fixed his cap on his head with one swipe, on seeing the pint he asked, " is that fur me big man?"
" Aye mate, fill yir boots.''
He winked at Alex, and nodded. Alex shook his head and took a sip of his tea, disassociating himself from the whole affair. Curdy sniffed the pint and after taking a breath he swallowed it in one. He banged the tumbler down hard on the table and while staring at the big man with a serious expression, letting him know he knew exactly what he had just drank, he exclaimed in a loud voice with a hint of menace,
" Fur Christ sake, A've found a cure fur cancer."
The big man laughed saying " yir aff yir heid ya auld arsehole."
He took a piece of paper with a fiver wrapped in it from his pocket and said to Curdy.
" Here, will yie pit this line oan fur me? A huv tae get tae work and A'm naewhare near a bookies. If it comes up A'll see yie awright."
"Whit aboot seein me awright the noo?"
"A've already bought yie a pint ya auld chancer. Whit mair dae yie want? Fur fuck sake"
"Whit aboot a pint that disnae smell ae pish?"
" Christ yie knew that, and yie still drank it?"
" Aye, A'm an alkie, A've no gote a choice but you ya bastard were takin a liberty."
" Look, are yie pittin this bet oan fur me?"
John held the line out to Curdy who took it and put it straight into his jacket pocket.
" Right, A'm away noo, mind Curdy,pit that line oan and A'll see yie okay if it comes in."
Waving his right hand as he walked out the door, he called, " See yie efter Alex."
Alex answered," Aye nae doobt big man."
Auld Curdy took the line from his pocket and removed the fiver, he screwed the line up and threw it in the air, on the way down he volleyed it into the corner. He offered the fiver to Alex saying "a half pint ae light Alex and a wee dram ae black boatle, if you please my good man."
The barman shook his head and did as he was asked. He offered the drinks to the auld bastard saying " that's an awffie chance yir taking Curdy, he's a bad and an evil piece ae business when he's angered, are yie sure yie want tae dae this?"
"Alex, he gambled his line wiz gonnae win, A've jist gambled it's gonnie lose. It's a fifty fifty bet either way."
He rubbed his hands together and said to the whisky, " here's tae guid fortune."
That afternoon Curdy, after retrieving the line from the floor sat on a stool in Cassidy's bookies and watched in desperate fear as the third horse on the line came romping home. He counted the odds; if the bet had been placed Big John was due £ 47.00 more than a weeks wages in the steelworks at that time 1972. Curdy checked his pockets he had £ 3.26p, desperately he studied the form looking for a miracle 100/1 favourite, no chance.
It was 3.30 pm big John would be in the pub at 4.30 ish looking for his big win. He would already know and would be annoying his workmates with his boasts. Curdy had an hour to decide what to do. He walked back into the pub and ordered a double black bottle whisky. " A take it the third wan came in?" Asked Alex "
"Came in, the bastard strolled the race, A don't even think it wiz oot ae breath, fuck, fuck aye and fuck it sare Alex. Whit am A gonnae say tae that big bastard? He'll go mental, he'll boot fuck oot me."
" A telt yie this moarnin Curdy yie shoodnae huv drank the fiver. Whit dae yie owe big John noo?"
" £47.00." Alex drew in his breath and shook his head.
" A wid maybe huv tried tae help yie Curdy but £ 47.00, nae chance A coodnae cover that fae the boss, yir on yir own mate."
He said as he as he laid the Black Bottle on the counter in front of Curdy.
" Hey Curdy, howz it goan ma auld pal? How yie hingin ma auld money-maker?"
Big John grabbed the auld guy and lifted him up as easily as lifting a baby. He shook him and said "right ya bugger where's ma fifty quid?"
" Naw big man" answered Curdy " it's forty seven quid and A didnae pit yir line oan."
" Aye right, stoap yir pish, git the winnins oot and let's have a swallae ya lyin auld prick."
" John, A didnae pit it oan. You gambled it wid win, A gambled it wid lose, there's nae winnins A drank the fiver."
When the first head butt came, it struck Curdy square on the nose breaking it. The blood and muccus sprayed out onto the nearby wall and over the door. When the second head butt struck, Curdy flopped unconscious. His wasted face fell on the big man's shoulder; John screaming now, lifted the auld guy higher and smashed him to the floor.
Curdy made no sound he lay there in a heap. Big John enraged, drew his toe-capped boot back and kicked Curdy on the thighs, the body shifted slightly. John now grabbed the still unconscious old man and turned him onto his back where he raised his boot again and brought the heel of his heavy working boot down hard on the hapless man's stomach.
" Right John, enough's enough, that's an auld man yir hitting there. Dae yie want tae kill him? Shouted Alex.
A few of the punters in the bar were coming across and seemed about ready to intervene. Big John spun round his face contorted with anger. Saliva ran down his twisted mouth as he spat.
" Fuck aff the lot ae yiz. Anybody else want a doin? A'm right in the mood fur oanie ae yiz come oan, whose next? ya load ae shitebags."
The big man was spinning round glaring at anybody who had the balls to look at him, Sspittle ran down his face, mixing with his victims blood.
" Ach away tae fuck the lot ae yiz."
The big man stormed out the pub slamming the doors behind him.
The punters went straight to Curdy and began to check him over, calls of " is he deid?"And that's a fuckin liberty hitting an auld guy like that" " somebody get an ambulance. Alex phone fur the ambulance."
Alex bent down and said reverently amidst the horror and blood " help me lift him, we'll get him sat doon and see whit's whit?"
They lifted the old man onto a seat, he was starting to come to and was coughing and spluttering blood down his chest. His false teeth had dropped to the floor and a guy was picking them up using a handkerchief. He put the teeth inside Curdy's flat cap, which was sitting on the table and said sympathetically.
''Yie awright auld yin, there's yir gnashers there fur yie."
Curdy made no reply. Alex lit two cigarettes and placed one in the old man's mouth.
Curdy drew deeply and coughed again, " fuckin hell man ma heid is thumpin, A'll huv tae go hame and fix masell up. This is murder. A knew the bastard wid be angry but fuckin hell he's no right in the heid. Who stoaped him? A wiz oot ae it."
" A shouted at him tae leave yie but tae be fair A hink he wiz aboot ready tae stoap. A'll say it again A telt yie this moarning he's a bad piece ae business, best tae stay well clear."
Davy Cassidy the bookie walked in through the door carrying a tartan plaid round his arm. " Hi, Alex A heard.- How are yie Curdy? They tell me yie took an awffie leatherin fae big John Black and by the look ae yie they were right."
"Aye Davy, he gote me wie a lucky wan, but A'll do him in round two. A hink a've gote the measure ae him."
Everyone laughed nervously as Davy and the barman wrapped the shawl round old Curdy's shoulders.
" Bring him oot tae ma caur and A'll wheek him up tae the Law Hoaspital accident and emergency, they'll soart him."
" Haud oan Davy A appreciate this but yie cannae huv me walkin oot , well gittin cairried oot and leavin a double whisky oan the bar. Yiz wid destroy ma credibility aw thegither."
Alex fetched the whisky and Curdy, after cleaning his false teeth in the spirit, put them in his mouth and threw the drink over his neck before being helped out to Davy's car.
Three hours later, Curdy, helped by the bookie, walked slowly back into the now busy bar. His nose was splinted and the white strapping went all the way round his head, he had two shiny black eyes and his top lip had been stitched.
The place went quiet when they walked in. Curdy stood and leaned on the bar. Alex was pouring drinks but said " hello Davy, Curdy, how are yie pal?"
"Ach whit yie see Alex."
Davy took a ten pound note from his wallet and handed it to Curdy, "here, take this and huv a wee drink oan me,"
Curdy held his hand up, saying, " Naw Davy, yiv been great, takin me tae the hoaspital and stayin and lookin efter me, A cannae take yir money anaw fur Goad's sake, cumoan, enough is enough.''
''Curdy, yi've been a friend tae me maist ae ma life and A owe yie mair than wan favour, so take the tenner and huv a drink, it'll help yie sleep the night. Alex, A'm off, look efter ma auld pal will yie?"
He lifted his hand and waving to Alex and the rest of the pub he walked out the door.
Curdy waved the tenner at the barman, who while smiling, asked, " Aye whit? Wid it be a hauf and a hauf, by oany chance?"
" Aye, well tae start wie oanywie." said Curdy, smiling back.
An hour later, Big John walked in to the bar. He came straight up to Curdy and asked " you awright? A'm no sayin sorry cause yie were oot ae order spendin ma fiver and no pittin ma bet oan but A hut yie a wee bit too sare. So, whit urr yie drinkin? A'll buy yie a hauf."
To say no would have caused more bother than Curdy was in the mood for, he accepted the offer and Alex said, " A'll pit wan in the till fur yie, fur efter.''
He began to pour the usual for big John, while asking, " Huv you calmed doon John? Everythin good wie yie? A'm no wantin oany trouble the night again."
" Sorry Alex, A wiz jist disappointed aboot no gittin the fifty quid."
" Forty seven" interjected Curdy.
" Aye forty seven. Oanywie, am A barred?"
" Naw, naw, naw," said Alex. " But behave yirsell and nae mair drappin the heid oan oaniebuddy. A cannae find Doreen's mop and the flair's awffie sticky ower by the door there."
" Dae yie want me tae clean it up mate?"
"A'm jokin big man, A cleaned that the day fur Goad's sake, it wiz a wee funny John, a hee haw, fur fuck sake John."
"Aye, A'm laughin ma fuckin heid aff Alex, oh aye, yir wasted ahint that bar, yir a fuckin comedian right enough."
Big John took his pint and went over and joined three guys for cards, while Curdy mused over his whisky.
The night wore on without incident. Big John continued to drink and it soon began to take effect. He couldn't get the thought of how Curdy had cheated him out of his winnings and there he was, sitting at the bar, bold as brass, drinking,
'Aye, drinkin, haud oan. Where did he get the money fur drink? That auld bawbag has kidded me and every other fanny oan. He's put that bet oan efter aw, and he's sittin there drinkin ma money. The durty, fly bastard. A'll kill the wee prick.'
Big John stood up and quickly closed the distance between himself and Curdy. With no warning, he swung a right hook, which nearly lifted the auld guy right off his stool, he was thrown hard to the floor, John lifted the stool and battered Curdy over the head with the metal legs, while shouting, " Ya lyin auld fucker, Yie did pit that treble oan and yi've kept the money. Yi'll no take the pish oot ae me again, A'll fuckin kill yie.
The whole bar was shouting and calling for John to stop.
Again Alex came to the rescue, he jumped on the counter and taking advantage of the height, he dived and threw his arms around Big John in a rugby tackle, they both fell to the floor, with Alex on top calling.
''John enough, Davy Cassidy the bookie gave Curdy a tenner, It's that he's drinkin wie. Will yie calm the fuck doon, the auld guy's oot cauld again. Yi'll huv tae stoap this afore yie kill him."
Alex had his arms and legs wrapped round John, holding him tightly, but the big guy threw him off as if he was nothing. He stood up and sat at the bar, staring angrily at the body lying on the floor. His mates had come to him and were trying to calm him down.
Alex went to Curdy who was coming round, his face was covered again in his blood and he was seething.
''Aw fur Christ's, fuckin, holy bastardin fuckin sake, no a fuckin gain . A've hud ma doin fur this. This isnae fair, where is that big bastard? A'm gonnae shoot that nutter. If A hud a shotgun, A wid fire baith barrells up his fuckin hairy bastardin arse."
"Calm doon Curdy." Pleaded Alex, as he wiped Curdy's face with a dishcloth." Yir losin the place here. That big man will kill yie, settle yirsell the noo, fur fuck sake. Yir face looks awright, the stitches huv burst oan yir lip, but that seems tae be all. When yi've gathered yirsell, go hame and A'll try tae talk some sense intae neanderthall there. A'll give him a hauf tae calm him, then A'll try tae git rid ae him. You keep yir heid doon fur a wee while okay?"
The auld bastard got to his feet and after glaring at big John; he was helped onto a seat, where he held the cold, wet dishcloth, over his mouth. A half of whisky was put in his hand, the auld guy sipped it, and resting his head against the wall he sighed.
Curdy began to think.'It's not fair. Yie don't hit a man twice fur the same thing. That's well out of order. I've already had a smack for drinking his gambling money. I can't beat him in a fight but I know who I can. If you can't win fair, or the enemy isn't playing fair,you have to raise the anti in your favour.'
With his decision made, Curdy stood up and after a lingering glare at big John, he left the pub. He crossed the road and walked the short distance to John's house. The lights were on inside, he searched the garden fences until he found a loose paling, he pulled it free and chapped John's door. Linda, John's wife, answered the door. Curdy whacked her hard on the head with the two-inch piece of wood. She fell holding her head in her hands and screaming.
He kicked her hands away and booted her in the face, a loud crack was heard, as her nose splintered, blood poured down her face. Curdy, whipped her twice more with the wood. He heard himself yelling,
"how dae you like it bitch? That's whit your man done tae me. Fae noo oan, whit he diz tae me, A'll dae tae you. Tell the big bastard that, when he comes hame the night."
With that, he left.
Half an hour later, a loud thump was heard on Curdy's door.
" Open this fuckin door ya bastard, A'm gonnie kill yie, Curdy, Curdy, You hut ma fuckin wife, ya fuckin shitebag, A cannae believe yie hut ma Linda. Ya women beatin cowardly bastard, open this fuckin door "
Big John ran at the door and smashed his shoulder against it, the door shook and the narrow windowpane smashed, he booted the door hard again.
" A'm gonnie rip yir fuckin heid aff and shite doon yir fuckin neck ya bastard. Open the fuckin door."
Curdy was standing behind the door, peering through the smashed narrow window. He had nailed two by two strapping all the way round the door, there was no way it could be kicked in, it was solidly shuttered. He couldn't see anything outside it was completely dark, the lampposts in this street hadn't worked for years, there was no point as soon as the lights were fixed, the vandals struck.
He called quietly but clearly.
"Aye John, how dae you like it when somebody gits the better ae yie? That disnae happen often diz it? A already hud ma doin fur spendin yir stake, but you, ya headcase, hud tae take it another step further. That's fine, that's fine wie me, A'm an auld arsehole, A've hud many a leatherin, A can take it, but your wuman cannae and A'll tell yie somthin else. That wee lassie yi've gote. That wee lassie at the primary school wie they wee pink ribbons, haudin the bunchies in her hair and the wee teddy bear she's always trailin ahint her."
Curdy let this sink in.
" Curdy, whit are you sayin? Don't bring wee Kirsty intae this. If you herm that wean ae mine A'll murder yie ya bastard, A'll murder the fuck oot yie, A promise yie, as Goads ma fuckin judge, A'll tear yir lungs oot." he kicked the door again.
''Are yie listenin John? It finishes here, you either kill me the night, or yie go and it's over. If yie go, yir wife and yir wee lassie, are safe fae me. Jist walk away big man, and it ends here.''
Curdy waited. The silence lengthened...''John! Dae yie hear me? John, John are yie there?''
Archived comments for A Dangerous Choice. Mikeverdi on 15-02-2013 A Dangerous Choice. Will comment after reading part two, Great so far! Author's Reply:
Cheers Mike. Thank you very much for taking the time to read and more importantly to comment. Weefatfella Savvi on 16-02-2013 A Dangerous Choice. A great read, I ca really see these characters and the places they frequent, what happens next ??? S Author's Reply:
Well Savvi part two is here and part three next publishing day. I'm a bit worried about the amount of profane language in the piece but I know it is in context. Thank you for reading and commenting so far. Weefatfella. ValDohren on 17-02-2013 A Dangerous Choice. So far so good - am planning a holiday in Scotland this summer, so better steer clear of this pub !!! Val π Author's Reply:
It's okay Val, just give me a shout, I'll show you around and introduce you to Auld Curdy. Thanks again for reading and commenting |
| The King Of The Gypsies. (posted on: 11-02-13) A rather scary but exciting fare with the King of the Gypsies for company. 
The King Of The Gypsy's.
" Bravo three, it's the gypsy camp for O'Flaherty, quoted at £ 40.00, going to Possil in Glasgow."
" Aye, roger Helen."
I turned the Granada off the rank and headed for the gypsy camp on Sibbald's Brae. It was 10.00-clock at night on a warm September evening. A job from the gypsy camp could go either way, most of the gypsies were well behaved in the cab but sometimes if you had two or three of the younger men and they were drunk, it could be a problem.
As I turned into the camp there were people everywhere, men, women and children all milling about excitedly and congregating around something, I couldn't see what. Young boys were jumping up and down and the dogs were barking. Something big was going on. The crowd parted and three large broad shouldered men came walking towards me, as they split from the mass, people were patting the big guy in the centre on the back and they seemed to be honouring him with smiles and nods of the head.
He had his arms draped along the shoulders of the two men escorting him and they were talking and laughing loudly. They stopped at my taxi and after shaking hands and embracing each other it seemed for ever, the big guy from the middle opened the Granada passenger door and sat down beside me, as he got in I lowered the passenger window. He put both hands outside and continued to shake hands with both men in turn. One of the gypsies slapped the roof very noisily and I began to roll slowly out of the camp. The crowd followed behind waving and calling until after tooting the horn a couple of times, I went through the gates.
" Will yie trust an honest man?"
He exclaimed loudly in his thick Irish brogue, while holding his large and powerful looking balled fist up at the windscreen. I could see the edges of notes hanging out but I couldn't have worked out how much he was holding. I looked at him. He was wearing a very serious expression, his eyes however were very sharp and clear and I felt no threat from him. He exuded confidence.
His maybe honest green eyes, sat above a thick, and often broken nose. His cheekbones also had seen some reshaping. His shoulders were rounded with muscle and his forearms were stretching the black leather of his jacket. Without speaking I opened the consul between us and he put the money inside, I closed the compartment and we both smiled. I'd passed the test.
I'd played this game before with the gypsies, they always try to intimidate you but if you hold your nerve and appear to be unaffected they settle down. He went into his inside pocket and took out his cigarettes, he held the packet up and I nodded before picking up my Zippo and handing it to him, he put two cigarettes in his mouth and drawing on the flame he lit them both, he placed my Zippo back where I had gotten it before offering me one of the now lit cigarettes. I accepted the cigarette and lowered the windows releasing the fumes. We both smoked in silence as we headed for the motorway. I turned off the M8 at junction 16 for Possil.
The gypsy had been quiet for most of the journey and he'd sat with his arms folded and his head down as if in sleep but his breathing was shallow so I knew he wasn't sleeping. He lifted his head and began to give me directions.
" Droiver, stop the car I need to talk to yie ''.
I drew into the kerb and he turned to look at me. " Just a wee bit along this road we will come to an industrial estate. My people have blocked the road with burning oil barrels but don't worry now, I'm expected and I'm the main man. Do you know what that means? "
"You're the leader then" I offered.
" I'm the King of the gypsies and I've come here to this camp to clear up a very delicate situation. What's yir name? Now tell me true."
"Paul" I answered, truthfully.
"If you do as I advise yie Paul, everything will be fine. When we stop at the gates, drop the back winda on moi side a wee bit, a man will put a brightly coloured rag in that winda, when he does, put the winda up to trap it, then they will let us through, have yie got that?"
I nodded; he punched me lightly on the shoulder.
" Ach you'll be foin, don't panic and try to remember which way we go in so you can get back out without any problems, do you have it?"
I nodded again. It was a good job the Granada was automatic because my legs were shaking now and I wasn't looking forward to what was to come, but strangely, a part of me was enjoying the excitement of it all. Now with my hands as well as my legs shaking we continued into God alone knew what.
We slowly approached the estate. Two oil drums were burning in front of the wire mesh gates. Thick black smoke swirled up into the night sky. Thick enough it seemed to have created the night itself. The light from the large flames didn't seem to be making any headway in it's fight with the dark, it was being consumed as soon as it left the tub. The sharp tang of burning pitch pervaded everything.
More burning barrels surrounded by men in silhouette could be seen inside the camp. The gang of men at the gate were menacingly holding what looked like pick-shafts. I noticed one evil looking guy with a long shafted axe. I stopped several feet back from the blazing oil drums and lowered the back window as previously instructed. The gypsy dropped his window and put his arm out to shake the hand of the 'guard' coming to meet us.
" Hello Shamus, how are yie? " he said as the man approached.
" Hello Barry, I'm foin, I hope yie have the makins to calm things down this night, it's all just about to fire off. Is the droiver set for it?"
" He is that Shamus, now be a good man and put the ting in the winda and we'll make our way in."
He raised the window and looked at me, " are yie alright? Can yie do this?"
" I'm fine, let's get on with it." I replied, I hoped, confidently as I trapped a long yellow scarf in the back window. Shamus turned to his men at the gates and raised his right hand, two men put their weapons on the ground and picked up chains, which had been attached to the drums, they pulled the drums away from the front of the entrance while another guard opened the gates. I lit two cigarettes and offered one to the Gypsy King, he smiled and once again thumped my shoulder. This seemed to be his way of saying well done, my shoulder was throbbing as we drove through the gates.
The road was lined with caravans and pick-up trucks, dogs and ragged arsed children carrying sticks in imitation of the adults, were running about excitedly. Some kids would run in front of the car trying to get a glimpse of who was inside.
As I approached a set of burning oil drums they would be pulled away, when I looked in the rear view mirror I could see they were worryingly being re closed. As I passed the light and my eyes cleared, more flaming tubs revealed the path ahead. There were few buildings in this estate but any I passed had gypsies standing on the roofs holding torches next to yet more ignited drums.
I counted eight sets of blazing tubs before I reached the destination. Thankfully the road was straightforward with only one left hand turn. A big white chrome covered caravan with two blue transit vans and a brand new silver Mercedes were the landmark for this. I turned left and continued on towards a large group of people standing in front of a very large and ornate caravan. The area was illuminated by what appeared to be small floodlights on stands, the sound of the generators got louder as the 'King' lowered his window again. He stepped out and after closing the door he turned and leaned in the open window.
" Thank yie Paul, Yie have done well this noit, so take this, I know Oi've already paid. This is a wee bonus for yie, take it now, and whatever happens don't get out of yir car."
He handed me a £20.00 note and with a wink he turned towards his 'subjects.'
He raised his arms and as he walked into the crowd, they all cheered before opening up and swallowing him.
I reversed slowly and turned the car before heading for the first set of flaming barrels. I passed the two Transit vans with the Mercedes and after an eternity clearing all the roadblocks, I came to the exit. The gates were opened on my approach and the drums were pulled away. Just as I cleared the gates one of the guards slapped the boot-lid, I nearly jumped out of my skin and the car shot forward. I drove for five minutes before stopping to calm myself down. I smoked three cigarettes before continuing.
I had almost forgotten, I opened the consul to reveal the truth of things. The King of the Gypsies was an honest man. There was eighty pounds in the bundle, four twenties, with my bonus twenty, that made the fare one hundred pounds and a bright yellow pitch smelling scarf. I don't know to this day if it was worth it.
Archived comments for The King Of The Gypsies. TheBigBadG on 11-02-2013 Reflections.The King Of The Gypsies. If this is a true story I can imagine it must have been a pretty hairy ride. True or not though, good tale. Giving the devil a ride into hell, keeping safe mainly by pretending that you aren't giving the devil a ride into hell. It's a natural set up and you carry the atmosphere well with all the burning barrels et al. It feels a bit medieval somehow, actually. Something that might give you a chuckle though: I have a friend who's a policeman and he was keeping an eye on a gypsy wedding one time. Apparently some lady emerges from the reception, all tears and wailing, and tells him there's an argument getting out of hand inside and one of them has a gun. So my friend tries to calm her as best he can, radios through something like, 'Going in to check on an argument. A gun has been reported but no shots fired,' and heads into the reception. About 4 minutes later half the county force turns up, all sirens wailing, doing the full Blues Brothers routine. Turns out the signal wasn't great there and control had heard something like 'Check on an argument ... gun reported ... shots fired...' Author's Reply:
Aye radios aren't reliable. I turned a corner in Bathgate years ago and caught what I thought were burglars in the cinema with my headlights. I radioed control they told the police who put dogs in to get the offenders out. Five were bitten. They were the cinema owner, his two sons and two policemen. Polis are nuts! Thank you George for your story and your comments. Weefatfella Mikeverdi on 12-02-2013 Reflections.The King Of The Gypsies. Brilliant, I enjoyed it from start to finish. Mike Author's Reply:
Cheers Mike. I appreciate you taking the time to read and especially commenting. Thanks very much indeed for your very generous rating. Weefatfella. ValDohren on 12-02-2013 Reflections.The King Of The Gypsies. Quite a story WFF - fascinating. Enjoyed reading. Val π Author's Reply:
Thank you Val for taking the time to read and comment. I appreciate it. Weefatfella. japanesewind on 13-02-2013 Reflections.The King Of The Gypsies. great that, pity you could not have stopped for the finale. Have just got the book "Knuckle" by James Quinn McDonagh. good tale...W.F.F Author's Reply:
I'll check it out. Thank you for your comments David. Weefatfella Andrea on 13-02-2013 Reflections.The King Of The Gypsies. Great stuff WFF! Must say, you're going great guns at the moment π Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Andrea. I'm enjoying myself at the moment. Weefatfella. |
| Reflections. (posted on: 08-02-13) Sometimes as we go through life we are tested. Sometimes we pass. Sometimes we fail. Reflections. I was sitting in pole position on the Bathgate taxi rank when the train rolled in. The bleep sounded and the doors slid open. The passengers poured out dodging each other easily and dissipated into the town. He suddenly appeared, heading towards me, he was wearing a deerstalker cap and one of those expensive tweed jackets with the elbow patches. He was dressed in tan corduroy trousers and on his feet, were a pair of pointy leather brown brogues. A well-manicured thin pencil moustache grew below his tortoise-shell half spectacles and a red bow tie flashed, in front of his yellow and red checked shirt. He was raising and lowering his walking cane with a flourish as he tipped his head in my direction. I nodded to denote I was first cab. He flicked his cane under his left arm and opened the taxi door. He got in, sat down, and after placing both hands on top of his cane, he ordered, " Armadale driver, thank you." I flicked the meter on and headed west. After going through the Steelyard traffic lights the aroma hit me. 'He's farted' I thought, 'no, there was a strong sharp tang to this odour, and it was getting stronger.' " Have you shit yirsell? " I asked him. " Yes, it's a condition I have, I can't help it, just take me to Armadale" " A condition? I've gote a condition tae mate. Ma condition is, yie don't shite in ma motor. You huv, and yie still want me tae take yie tae Armadale ? The motor's mingin, A cannae take you anywhere mate, yir stinkin oot ma vehicle, and that's before A see the state ae the seat." I drew up to the kerb next to the Armadale bus stop and got out. I walked round the cab and opened the passenger side door for him. ''Right git yirsell and yir shitey arse oot.'' " Yie cannae pit me oot driver I need tae get tae Armadale. How am I gonnie manage that?" " I don't know mate, why don't yie take a run and slide there?" He brushed his shoulder roughly against me in complaint as he got out. I let it slide. He stood inside the bus stop. As I turned, I could see the lady standing next to him, leaning towards him and sniffing his shoulder. She looked him up and down before screwing her face up, and taking a step to the side. I opened the windows and u-turned the cab east. I checked the car over in the petrol station. The seat looked fine. I didn't want to do it, but it was something I had to do to find out if the seat was wet or smelly. Squirming and with my face screwed up, I hesitantly rubbed my two fingers on the pleather seat-pad and sniffed, nothing. I gave it a wipe and scooted the air freshener a couple of times. I nipped into the toilet and washed my hands before heading once more into the breach. The Taxi data pad, on the dash, bleeped. 'Job offer, press any key to accept ' I pressed the middle lucky number eight. The bleeping stopped. The screen now read " Fr-, Acc 109 D.S.P. unit 1, Kelvin Park, Deans North Ind Est....NB > Letter. > Get sig both ends. To- Acquired Finance, 3 Bellend Square S,Gyle Edinburgh...............£20.00.' That's okay its a lovely day, the sun's splitting the trees. The cab smells fine again. I'll have a nice wee drive up the M8 to South Gyle. It will take twenty minutes. That's a pound a minute. Ya Belter. Oh, the Icing on the cake, Allana, the wee Polish receptionist at D.S.P. is the strangest wee wuman. She has the weirdest dress sense. Everything is all mixed up. It's as though she wears what she likes but doesn't bother if anything matches. Somebody must have told her men like thigh high boots with six-inch stiletto heels. The wee lassie staggers about her office like a drunken ice skater. She wears them with cut off denims with the white pockets hanging down her front and her arse hanging out the back. She sports huge belt buckles below her always bare midriff showing a pearl hanging from a short silver chain attached to her naval and low cut blouses with buttons open to advertise her inheritance. Her dyed blonde hair is long, frizzy and wavy, usually with a hair band holding it back from her over made-up spray tanned, red lipsticked and heavy black rimmed bespectacled face. I believe she would be quite attractive if some good friend would have a word. That said, I drove down and pressed the buzzer at the D.S.P. Office. Allana came shimmering out from behind the desk with her stiletto's wavering enough to knock out one of her knees. Her arms were flapping trying to keep her balance, but she had the most endearing smile,while she was saying, " Ees okay, I are coming to you, dee door buzzer ees no work." She opened the door and handed me the letter. " Ees okay now eh?" I thanked her and took the letter. " Excuse me I need to have your signature on this chitty" I elaborated by imitating a signing with my right hand. She flashed that smile again and said, " Okay I sign, where?" She leaned over and with great difficulty balanced the chitty on her boot-covered knee. As she signed, I was lecherously smiling. When all was done I jumped into the Hack and headed for the M8. Twenty minutes later I was parking the taxi on the C.E.O's Space at Acquired Finance in S, Gyle. Carrying the letter I swanned into the building. I know the score with security guys; there were three of them all with moustaches, and standing behind the imposing large half moon desk. I waved the letter at them as I called " A.F." " Aye mate, take the lift, top floor, yie cannae miss it." I jumped in the lift and pressed button 3, the machine took me up to A.F. I always make sure when in an elevator to be certain I'm facing the right way when the doors open which isnae easy sometimes, so I kept turning one way then the other. When the doors opened I was facing the wrong way after all. I stepped out into what could have been a section taken from a primary school corridor. The walls were dark brown on the bottom and pale green from waist height up. A door with a narrow wire meshed glass window was the only means of escape. I peered through the narrow window where a young girl could be seen feeding paper into a machine. I tried the door it was locked. I rattled the door and then knocked loudly, the girl ignored me. I thumped on the door. A bus driver opened it for me. I say bus driver because the first thing I saw as the door opened was his black shoes, followed by his white socks and his black trousers. I took my eyes up to his face where he had the obligatory security man mustache. He smiled and murmured " Awright mate?" He stepped back to allow me to enter the citadel. I replied, "Aye mate fine, I've a letter here and a chitty tae be signed fur." He smiled and pointed me in the direction of an ugly fat guy with an enormous walrus like moustache. He was parked behind a massive desk covered in papers and he exuded an air of complete stupidity. As I looked at this arsehole, I thought, he lives himself. He was wearing a cheap supermarket shirt that was well passed its wear-by date. The colour had gone and now instead of pristine white, it was battleship grey. No woman worth her salt would allow her man out the door wearing that garment. I myself am an advocate of cheap supermarket apparel, I do Primark and even Mat Alan gents and ladies outfitters but the Sweetness would never, ever, allow me to ruin her credibility by sporting a battleship grey white shirt unless it was in the garden and beneath a jumper. The arsehole spoke... " Hey, can you no read?" I ignored that; nobody talks to me like that so he must have been talking to somebody else. " Aye you, you wie the letter, can yie no read?" I walked up to the escritoire and placed the chitty and the letter among the myriad of papers covering the desk in front of him. " Did you no see the signs oan the door ootside?" I controlled myself. Then made the reply. " Listen mate, this is the first time I've ever been here, I might never be here again. The signs on the door, I didn't notice, if there are any signs..." " There ARE.. fu..signs oan they doors, A pit them there. They show yie how tae access the door, tae save me gittin up aff ma ar.. seat every two minutes, an if yie hud read them, Wee Charlie here widnae huv hud tae open the door fur yie." I answered with," look mate just sign that chitty and I'm out ae here. I don't read other peoples notices, they could be lottery bonus numbers for all I know, just sign that chitty and I'm away fae this place and your face." " Whit's your name?" he yelled. I pointed to the chitty. "Are yie gonnae sign that? Cause if yie urnie, A'll jist take it back tae Livingston and say yie widnae take it." He grabbed a pen and scraped it across the receipt. I picked it up and peeled off his segment before handing it to him. He grabbed it out of my hand. I turned and after nodding to wee Charlie the Swiss bus driver, I headed to the door. I tried to open it ....it was locked, I looked around but could see no signs, wee Charlie's hand appeared and opened the door again for me, I nodded to him and he grinned sardonically. I stepped into the small corridor and pressed the button to bring the elevator. As I waited I thought. 'Was that my fault? Could I have avoided that?' The door behind me opened, I turned. It was grey-shirt, " A don't like your attitude mate" he called. I looked at him, my right fist had balled and was twitching, he was a micro-second away from a right hook, just as I was ready to off-load it, I spotted the cameras, one in each corner, my arm relaxed. I heard, 'Ting', the lift had arrived. I turned to the arsehole, the only rejoinder I could think of was..." Look mate, see instead of writin oot signs tae annoy the people in here, why don't yie ask that wee lassie feedin that machine wie paper how tae wash a shirt, cos that wan's mingin". I stepped into the lift. 
Archived comments for Reflections. ValDohren on 09-02-2013 Reflections. Well, I guess it just wasn't your day Weefatfella was it !! Met a few arseholes myself so I know just what you mean though. Great read, much enjoyed - very descriptive, ATMOSPHERIC, and funny. Val π Author's Reply: 
Thank you very much Val for getting the ball rolling. 61 reads and no comments. I was losing the plot. I should be grateful that at least I'm being read, but I feel if there are no comments it must be rubbish. Still you rescued me from despair Val, thank you again. Enjoyed the ATMOSPHERIC. Phwaaw!!! Mikeverdi on 10-02-2013 Reflections. This is a long way from rubbish, I loved it too. Mike Author's Reply: 
Thanks for your generous rating and comment Mike. I'll have to address this insecurity I have. Cheers mate. Weefatfella. purplespirit on 10-02-2013 Reflections. Except facing some problems reading parts of your English I thought it was a great story and kept a chuckle with me all through. To you of course it has been an extreme test situation and I don't know how I would have to handle this. Thanks for sharing. Purple Author's Reply:
The main reason you would have had problems reading is ,when I write for effect I use Scottish vernacular, this is not easy even for English speaking people to read. I wish that had been the the worst test situation I've been in after nearly forty years driving taxis. I have recently started writing about some of those experiences under the heading Reflections. I hope you will pop your head in from time to time. Thank you for your much appreciated comments. Weefatfella. |
| The Harburn Haggis Bash. (posted on: 01-02-13) A more in depth and complete description of the real story behind the Harburn House Haggis Bash. No names have been changed, as all are guilty. 
The Harburn Haggis Bash.
The invitation when it arrived made itself and its importance known, by landing on my hall carpet with a decidedly prominent and weighty thump. On hearing this alert, I stood up from my chair and headed to the front door to investigate. There on the floor was a brown envelope with the fleur de lis pattern running round the outside and embossed in the center was an impression of a rather impressive looking mansion with the title below boldly stating, Harburn House.
With trembling hands and using a knife to preserve the envelope. I opened the letter. It read, Mr Paul Hawthorne Esq, is cordially invited to attend Harburn House on the 25th January; a coach will be provided for transport from West Calder train station, which will be leaving for Harburn Estate at 9.45am. Anyone missing this coach will not be admitted to the grounds at a later time and the invitation will be subsequently cancelled.
Bash Goers are asked to bring there own "lure", this comprises of at least four pairs of used, but unwashed ladies small garments, which will be utilised on the day. Please place aforesaid lure, in a sealed plastic bag, to preserve potency. Large freezer bags are ideal in this instance. No Lure will be offered, and if you don't bring your own, you will lose out on the experience. The wearing of Highland dress is obligatory; anyone not in this attire will be refused entry to the coach. Please do not bathe for at least six days prior to this event.
The wax seal of Harburn with two red ribbons was stuck to the bottom right hand corner of the expensive paper and the signature of Alexander Young, Earl Of Harburn and Baron of Cobinshaw, was flamboyantly inscribed. I was amazed, why have I not to bathe for six days? whats going on?.. Knickers?
Six weeks later found me standing at West Calder train station in full highland dress, with my Lure in a Morrisons carrier bag and my body as ripe as a marathon runners boxers. Gentlemen surrounded me in similar attire, and were just as endearing. All were holding bags, some Sainsburys and I even spotted a Jenners bag. The fifteen-minute trip on the bus full of Hooray Hendries and Wahoo Willies was all of that, and the driver, with obvious experience, had switched the heating off and he'd opened all the windows. I also noticed there was a problem with the doors as they remained open all the way.
We arrived freezing at Harburn and were met by the Laird himself who was standing in between two lovely ladies in mini kilts each holding a tray of much needed gold filled glasses. The Laird made us welcome and we all entered the house. We were given breakfast and whisky, and were instructed, that very shortly, the ghillies would be taking us onto the hills for the Haggis Bash.
I'd heard of this fine Scottish tradition but had never been on one, now that that would be addressed, I was looking forward to it. The alfresco coach arrived and we all boarded. We were again given whisky to fortify us on the journey and we arrived at the appointed spot ten minutes later.The ghillies herded us into a large marquee where more amber nectar was provided and we were asked to remove our jackets.
Apparently the male haggis, we were informed, is the only haggis that is eaten, the female, or Hag, is a protected species, as only twenty percent of haggis are born female. The hag runs round the hill spraying her scent to entice as many male Haggis as possible for mating. They only mate once a year and only in the month of January. I watched as the ghillies approached a fellow Haggis Basher and asked him if he had his Lure, he raised a Tesco shopping bag in the affirmative, and he was led off up the hill.
There is an old tradition in Haggis Bashing, a rite of passage or a coming into, or proof of man-hood. The proof of smelly nether regions is in itself seemingly all the proof of manhood that is required, but on the morning of the Haggis Bash, The aristocracy would blood a young noble at this revered event. The amount of used female undergarments the youth had managed to accrue, added to his credibility and subsequent eligibility.
The Haggis Basher has to erase the scent of the Hag. He does this by placing his ripe arse directly on the scent and dragging himself along the heather and bracken, much in the manner of a dog with worms. The Haggis, who had been previously following the allure of his love, would be confused if the scent suddenly disappeared, but this is where the lure comes into play. After smothering the Hag's scent using his own, the Haggis Basher ties a rope to his waist and drags his lure of pungent ladies smalls behind him, thus replacing the trail. He runs along in a straight line for a short distance before suddenly making a u-turn uphill, the haggis will hopefully follow, and as he has differing leg lengths on each side he will fall over and roll downhill into the ghillies nets.
Soon it was my turn. When asked if I had the Lure, I presented my Morrisons bag. The ghillie took the bag and led me uphill to a prearranged spot.
He unsealed my bag and asked me, " Eh, nae used tena lady in here a hope? That's been banned, the scent is too powerful and it drives the haggis mental."
I shook my head. I watched as he sniffed inside the bag, seemingly satisfied, he tied the bait and pushed me to the ground. It was freezing and some of the heather while comforting was interspersed with sharp stones and pointy wee sticks, which found the strangest places to go. I gritted my teeth while bravely dragging my bare arse along the hillside. After a short distance, the ghillie pulled me up and tied the Lure to my waist, he instructed me where to run and loop. I followed his instructions to the letter and after lifting my Lure; I was herded into an observation hide, where we waited for the haggis to appear.
It didn't take long. From out of nowhere this, in my opinion, huge haggis appeared sniffing along my trail. His long legs were on the downside of the hill, which was keeping him level but as he was enraptured by the scent of the lure, he suddenly veered uphill, as soon as he did he fell over and began to roll downhill faster and faster until he was caught in the nets. All let out a cheer and the whisky was passed round again. All Bashers laid their trails with differing results and the afternoon wore on.
All of a sudden, from the other side of the hill, could be heard the pipes and drums playing Cock-O the -North, and they were coming our way. The Pipe Major, flourishing his mace, appeared with the rest of the pipes and drums following. Behind the band marched the Earl himself, he in turn was being trailed by eight ghillies, all in full highland regalia, surrounding a ninth, who was holding in both hands, a highly polished wooden box.
They marched towards us and stopped outside the Marquee. The pipe band dispersed and reformed beside the canopy entrance, with Piper and Drummer alternating, and the pipe major standing in their centre. The Earl and his ghillies marched confidently up to the marquee where they stopped. The escorted ghillie with the box placed it on a saltire-covered table, which was standing in front of the large entrance. The ghillie bowed reverently before saluting the box, and with a precise military about- turn, he rejoined the rest of the ghillies. The band played Clumsy Lovers as they marched off.
The Earl approached the table, and after placing both hands respectfully on the surface, he addressed the assemblage.
" Gentlemen, today is a very special day in the annals of haggis bashing. We at Harburn, have for many years been trying in vain to catch the Haggis Chieftain of this haggis clan. To capture the Haggis Chieftain, one must have a very special lure. Haggis are very empathic, they only follow a lure that the haggis feels an affinity with, or if he detects a telepathic link with the lady from whom the scent was taken. Without these qualities the lure is useless. We today have managed with great stealth and fortitude, to procure the undergarments of the famous Susan Boyle, not just any of her small garments, but the knickers Miss Boyle wore on the night of her Britain's Got Talent audition. Armed with these, we will attempt to capture the Haggis Chieftain of Harburn. I myself will prepare the spoor."
This claim was not difficult to believe, Blackburn, the home of Susan Boyle was only five miles from where we stood. The Earl opened the box and removed the lure, which he handed to his chief gillie. They both marched off towards the trail, the band played itchy fingers, as we all followed up the hill. We were led into the hides and advised that a whistle would be blown when silence was required. The Earl lifted his kilt and ran his bare, noble and aristocratic arse along the hag's scent. He continued for twenty feet before standing and returning to the beginning, where the ghillie tied his lure. The Earl with Subo's smalls trailing, laid his bait before walking back down towards the hides, he entered a hide and the silencing whistle was heard.
We all waited. A few minutes later a pink hairy snout appeared about six feet from the trail. The huge and majestic haggis chieftain nervously and slowly sniffed the heather before raising himself up on one muscular back leg; he sniffed and peered all around. He seemed unsure, but he dropped back down and began to sniff again at the heather. I could see his eyes begin to roll, his snout extended as far as it could go, the haggis began to shake, and he let out a long, wailing high-pitched scream and buried his head into the heather. Now completely transfixed, he followed the Lure. When he took the loop and toppled over, we all expectantly held our breath, but when he began to roll down the hillside, a roar, as though a winning goal had been scored at Hampden, or a similar try at Murrayfield, exploded from the hides. The band struck up with the Susan Mcleod Strathspey. (I suppose this was the only pipe tune with the proper name they knew.) The Haggis Chieftain of Harburn had been captured. Whisky was offered all round again, backs were slapped, and the Earl was congratulated. Afterwards in a fit of extreme altruism, he invited everyone to the Burns supper at Harburn House, where all rituals and rites would be performed, including the address and toast to the magnificent beast.
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
Archived comments for The Harburn Haggis Bash. KristerJones on 01-02-2013 The Real Haggis Bash. I love this! British eccentricity at it's best π I salute you sir, and your haggis too! Author's Reply: 
Thank you for your very kind and much appreciated comments. Weefatfella. expat on 02-02-2013 The Real Haggis Bash. Brilliant - I could just see Spike Milligan & pals doing this as a TV script. It's genuinely funny, not forced and over-written, as some might do. A perfect story length as well. What a cheery way to start the day off! π Steve Author's Reply:
Steve! You have cheered me up entirely and boosted my confidence completely. Part of why I was missing from the forum for that wee while was, a complete drop in confidence in my storytelling abilities. You have fixed that. Thank you very much mate. Weefatfella. Andrea on 02-02-2013 The Real Haggis Bash. Brilliant! But what a stench must have emanated! Great vid to go with it, too π Author's Reply:
Andrea, I must say I feel absolutely over the moon. How great does a wee nib make the Weefatfella feel? Thank you very much indeed for your very kind comments........" ya Beezurrr." Weefatfella. x stormwolf on 02-02-2013 The Real Haggis Bash. Hi Weefats:-) As you know I seldom read prose but you are so generous reading poetry that I wanted to reciprocate...and glad I am that I did! A 'pure dead brilliant' piece of writing which had me laughing out loud (no mean feat I can assure you) Eh, nae used tena lady in here a hope? That's been banned, the scent is too powerful and it drives the haggis mental." You are a natural writer and although I am not any good at giving informed crit on prose, all I can say is I thought it was very entertaining. The only thing I would say is that once you highlight "lure" once in inverted commas, you do not need to do it again as it stands out too much but I might be wrong. Loved the music OF COURSE!!! and saw the whole thing to the tune of 'Cock of the North' Brillaint and more than deserving of the nib Alison x Author's Reply:
Thank you very much indeed Alison for your much appreciated comments. I agree with you on the "Lure" thing I honestly thought the same but wasn't sure. I have now adjusted. I read the poetry because I like it and I comment as best I can. I don't always get it but if someone takes the time to share their work, I feel I should at least comment. To do otherwise is akin to shoplifting I think. Thanks again Alison. Weefatfella.x ChairmanWow on 05-02-2013 The Real Haggis Bash. Funniest thing I have read on this website, WFF. You painted the pictures with just the right tones, nothing overdone in my humble opinion. Ralph Author's Reply:
Thank you very much for your comment Ralph I'm sitting here smiling. I enjoy your work also, especially Girl Trouble, so your praise is greatly appreciated. I'm glad you enjoyed. Weefatfella. niece on 05-02-2013 The Real Haggis Bash. An enjoyable read, WFF... never knew there was a creature called Haggis until I read this...now I know π Regds, niece Author's Reply:
I'm pleased you liked it niece. watch out for them there Haggises. Weefatfella. |
| The Road tae Pettinain. (posted on: 28-01-13) My sense of direction is deplorable, but even under extreme pressure I can steer a drink into a glass. 
The Road Tae Pettinain.
I tooted the horn and waved out the car window as I left my young brother Joe's house. We had had a great mahogany as usual. Joe and Tricia and the girls always have a great welcome and they certainly know how to party. I pointed the Mercedes towards Lanark and my other young brother Kenny's new home in Pettinain, four miles east of the town.
It was New year and me and the Sweetness wanted to squeeze as many visits to the family on this run west as possible. It was 6.30pm Pettinain was half an hour away so if we spent a couple of hours in Lanark we should be home in Bathgate by 10 o-clock, That was the plan anyway.
The roads were quiet as expected as we headed through Wishaw and out towards Carluke. We took the old Law Hospital road purely because that's the only route I know. Kenny and Lesley had only recently moved into this house and Theresa and me had never been to visit. Although I've been a taxi driver for most of my life I have to admit here that my sense of direction is non-existent. I get lost in big car parks.
After going through Carluke we boldly drove onto the B7056 after Kilncadzow and headed for Yieldshields. This was the completely wrong road to go but I was driving so that was usual. The Sweetness in complete trust slid down in the comfy leather seat and turned on the radio, the Beach Boys good vibrations filled the car, I turned up the heating and we went forth, headed for the Forth.
We turned right at the next road that looked fairly like an A road and felt like the proper way to go in my head. At the next junction it felt really good to me to turn left, only because we had turned right the last time. Theresa was completely unaware that I was now hopelessly bloody lost.
The signpost told me Carstairs was two miles ahead.
''Aw aye, is that no where the nut-hoose fur the criminally insane is Sweetie?"
" Whit's that?"
" Carstairs"
"Oh! Aye, that's where aw they scary murderers and rapists are kept, urr we close?"
" Aye, seemingly. Accordin tae the road-sign it's only two miles away and it's oan oor road."
The Sweetness sat up and started looking around, I noticed she checked her door was locked. After looking at her watch she said, " My God Paul it's half seven, you said it wiz only half an hours drive, are you loast again?"
" Naw, A'm no loast it takes as long as it takes, A've never been tae Kenny and Lesley's new hoose afore, and it's like a maze up here in the wilds ae the wids. My God they've even hidden the monsters cage up here it's so remote."
I turned right into Carstairs Village, the facility was on my right, a sign stated 'National Health Service Scotland. Carstairs State Hospital.' I shuddered. A vision of Hannibal Lecter with his mask on appeared in my head. A double electric wire fence approximately twenty foot high topped with what appeared to be rolls of razor-wire and bright blue lights on every stanchion, enclosed a group of long low white painted buildings. A modern observation tower with a massive searchlight towered over the main entrance. Even at this early time of night it looked creepy.
" A scary looking place, Eh!, hen?"
" Aye, cumoan lets go, I don't like hingin aboot here." I accelerated away and we headed once more in hope for Pettinain.
We crossed an old bridge with a cattle grid and two hundred yards further on we should have turned right but leaves obscured the signpost.... and that's why I didn't see it.
Twenty minutes later I was reversing away from the same bridge when I heard the Sweetness saying. " Hi, Kenny, where exactly is your house?"
" Right okay, put the hands free on,"
Theresa flicked the switch and my brother's voice filled the car.
" Hallo there, happy new year tae yiz!"
" Aye same tae yirsell Kenny", we chorused.
"Right, I've Jist crossed a wee white rectangular bridge the other side ae Carstairs and I'm cumin tae a right hander."
" Take it! Kenny quickly advised, and Paul, Listen tae me, yir no far away. Stay oan that road tae yie cum tae a wee ferm. Pass the ferm.... "
I could hear auld Kenny's highland lilt in the background. He had that endearing accent all Gaelic speakers have. Every time we visited Kenny and Lesley at this time, Lesley's parents Eileen and Kenny were always there but of course that's what the festive is all about and it was always a great pleasure and honour to meet and greet them.
Eileen, Lesley's Mum, was, in her past, a Glasgow "cumoan-git aff," a Corporation bus Clippie, and she had never lost that air of authority and firmness. Every time we visited, auld Kenny would be sitting in his chair with an empty crystal whisky glass.
Eileen didn't like the auld guy drinking whisky, well not just that, she didn't like anybody drinking, and she kept a stern Clippie's eye on her husbands glass. She would purse her lips, and with the right eye open and a face like a cat's arse, she would turn her head like a lighthouse, scanning the room slowly but thoroughly, making sure no one was drinking too quickly or attempting to enjoy themselves. As the gaze passed,'miscreants' would cower down, and conversation would slow as eyes would guiltily flick towards the sentinel. I smiled as these thoughts passed through my head.
I was forming a plan to thwart auld Eileen as I drove towards the house. If I had my way this evening, auld Kenny would have a full glass this year by hook or by crook. I had a bottle of Chivas brothers Revolve in the boot. This is a very expensive and sought after whisky. My original plan was to give it to my brother for his new year, as he was inclined to the dram. I myself didn't drink whisky. My new plan was to give the Chivas to auld Kenny, to annoy the hell out of auld Eileen.
A short time later we eventually arrived, we were welcomed at the door by my brother Kenny, our sister -in-law Lesley and wee Sarah Jane our beautiful wee niece.
The compliments of the season were offered profusely and we were invited in to the hearth where auld Kenny and Eileen were sitting. I wished Eileen a happy and prosperous new year as I kissed the air near her left ear. She grimaced as she lightly squeezed my right hand. In my left hand was the bag containing the revolve. I spun round and headed straight for the auld fella. He had sat up in his chair and was holding the expected empty glass.
I placed the bag on the floor and drew the decanter shaped, ceramic black bottle from the bag. Kenny knew exactly what I was holding, his eyes lit up and his right hand automatically began to rise. He stood up and brought the glass all the way to his mouth where he blew briskly into it to clear away any imperfections before admitting this special liquid, he then nodded and levelled the glass in my direction. As i said "Happy New Year Kenny" I could feel the 'Sentinel's' gaze boring into me, trying to steal my will.
I, with great fortitude and courage, endured. I popped the cork and aimed the bottle at the empty glass. The golden liquid gurgled into the crystal; I didn't stop until three fat fingers of whisky were rolling in the glass. Auld Kenny licked his lips and he looked at me with those Celtic eyes, the eyes of the people who had invented this amazing beverage. Those eyes moved between the well-filled glass and me. He said reverently, and in that wonderful soft highland lilt.
"Happy New Year, Paul. You have a fine steady hand".
Archived comments for The Road tae Pettinain. japanesewind on 28-01-2013 The Road tae Pettinain. love the scottish inserted into your tale, read it with the accent perfectly, class ending...D Author's Reply:
Thank you very much David. I appreciate you taking the time to read and for your kind comments. Weefatfella. CVaughan on 28-01-2013 The Road tae Pettinain. Have read your family-orientated jolly account of domestic adventure, such as is life. Carried interest throughout to engage, well told and a happy ending that satisfies and frustrates the abstemious rule of house. The mahogony phrase I had not heard before. Frank Author's Reply:
Thank you indeed Frank, for taking the time to read my meanderings and for your eloquent and articulate comments. Weefatfella TheBigBadG on 29-01-2013 The Road tae Pettinain. Was the mahogany planned for? It looks like a spellchecker got it; the reason I ask is it's the kind of thing I'd say which my girlfriend would roll her eyes at. You've shaped some believable characters quickly here though, which is definitely the strength. These little moments of domestic and family triumph all depend on the combination of characters after all. There's something familiar for me about the sentinel and the bold rebellion against her, reminds me of a couple of family get togethers, aye... I've been thinking as well, and I wonder if you'd get a kick out of Harry's work here. He's got a similar knack for (American) people who feel like they've walked right out of life. You're definitely different writers but my brain wants to connect you two for some reason... George Author's Reply:
Mahogany was definitely planned, it's in common usage in Scotland. Thank you for reading and for your comments. Harry I don't know? Maybe you could help me a bit more with that please. Thanks again George. Weefatfella TheBigBadG on 29-01-2013 The Road tae Pettinain. Duly noted on mahogany - that's my learning done for today. Picking a couple of his at random... Goofy, Ernie and Me & The Twelve Cylinder Packard. The thing about Harry is he can shape a cast of real people very quickly. I think that's the connection I'm going for between you two. Author's Reply: I'm very grateful to you George for leading me to Harry.
I was beginning to feel overwhelmed by Poets here on UKA. His tales are well written and easy on the eye. I will be trawling for him in the future. Weefatfella ValDohren on 29-01-2013 The Road tae Pettinain. Fascinating mahogany story WFF - at least you got there, so your sense if direction is a tad better than mine!! Author's Reply:
Thank you Val. For a Taxi driver of so many years I'm a joke. Weefatfella. Andrea on 29-01-2013 The Road tae Pettinain. I agree with BBG (and Harry) - it's certainly a knack you have there for bringing characters to sparkling life in a very short space of time. It's a very easy-going style (both you and Harry) which makes your stuff eminently readable and enjoyable. Author's Reply:
Thank you very much indeed Andrea for those marvelous comments and to be compared to Harry is an honour in itself. Weefatfella. Texasgreg on 31-01-2013 The Road tae Pettinain. Yes, as others have said, your characters are always too cool and your nationality is unmistakable and endearing to savor as I read. I would still like to hear an audio on your works... Your fan, Greg π .Author's Reply:
Hi! Greg always good to hear from you. Thank you for those amazing comments. I am honoured indeed, that you would call yourself a fan of mine. I am flattered, but I see you as a friend. I have a terrible accent Greg and my illness has, according to Adam, has changed my voice. Weefatfella. expat on 02-02-2013 The Road tae Pettinain. Not much to add here, wff, it's great to see your magnetic accounts back again. You've got a definite talent for storytelling; I'll bet if we spent an evening at your local listening to the day's events, it would be just as funny. If you ever decide to try hard-copy submissions to a publisher there'll be some format and punctuation editing needed but I'm sure the essence would shine through. Cracking entertainment. π Steve Author's Reply:
Thank you very much again Steve, for your kind and uplifting comments. Weefatfella. |
| The Ghost of Girdwoods Bar. (posted on: 21-01-13) Tommy would never again forget to switch off the lights in the ladies toilets. 
The Ghost Of Girdwoods Bar.
I'd promised my older brother Tommy a lift home from the pub he ran but as I drew up, I noticed from my elevated position, ( I drive a black cab) the lights were all out apart from the ladies toilet in the lounge. If this were left on, the police would phone in the middle of the night to have it investigated. As I drew up, I made him aware of the problem. He threw his cigarette to the ground, stood on it, and taking the keys from his pocket, began to open up the pub again, saying,
" Damn thing, who would wire something up this way anyway? And all for female emancipation. I'll just go through the lounge door, it's easier and quicker than going through the bar."
By opting to go through the lounge, Tommy had no access to the pub light switches, The only switch he would have access to, was the ladies toilets, he would have to go without light.
" God it's dark."
He stuck one hand out into the shadowed hallway, waving it about and keeping his chin tucked into his chest. Memory would lead him where he wanted to go and he knew the lounge area well. The light from the street lamps, showed a dim, orange tinted pathway, leading down into the long corridor between the bar and the lounge. The wall at the far end carried a black and white photo of old Wishaw, which glinted eerily in the darkness.
Two doors faced each other here, the left to the bar and gent's toilet and the right, after three wide steps to the lounge. Tommy turned slowly to the right and ascended the first two steps. Keeping his right hand out, he waved it about searching for the door. He leaned forward till he felt the wood and brought his probing hand down to the handle. Stepping up, he opened the door.
A cold draught of air hit his face 'Why is it so cold?' he thought. The lounge was dark and very quiet. The glow from the street lamps coming through the three large windows was smothered by the huge drooping curtains, which covered more than half of the glass and big fat double handled vases, carrying widely spread plastic orchids, cast long probing fingers into the shadowy gloom.
The bar was shuttered and the bottles glinted weakly below the larger than life row of optics, which cast wide drifting veils along the wall. 'It's usually cold when ghosts are about.' Tommy thought of Mary Girdwood, the ghost of Girdwood's Bar. Seemingly if you turned all the optics to the wall last thing at night. On returning in the morning the spectre would have turned them all back out facing, as they should be.
He had tried it for himself, one night. he turned the optics facing the wall and made sure he would be the first one in in the morning. He was shocked to find they were all righted. This thought was now passing through his slightly drunk head as he made his way through the darkness. 'Ouch!' he banged his knee off of a barstool, which nearly tripped him. His right hand found the pool table and this guided him along.
'Why is it so cold?'
He looked right towards the bar. ' Is that somebody there?'
He thought he saw a long haired shadowy figure, dressed in black and, floating along the bar,
'Checking the optics maybe?'
He shuddered. 'Oh get a grip of yourself you're a grown man, there is no such things as ghosts.'
Tommy gave himself a shake and stiffened his back. When he came to the corner of the pool table, he could see the light of the ladies toilet shining dimly down the long corridor. Focusing on the weak light, he made his way towards the hallway. The only sound was his shuffling footsteps.
'It's eerily quiet' he thought, as he slowly and carefully made his way between the tables and entered the long narrow and black tunnel.
Keeping both hands on the wall at either side, he proceeded along the passageway.
'There's no such things as ghosts. Okay, the optics were turned back but I was drunk that night, maybe I forgot to turn them and when I came in the morning, I was duped along with everyone else. I bet that's how it all started. Some drunken Barman years ago did exactly what I did and that's how it all began, Mary Girdwood the ghost of Girdwoods bar. Rubbish.'
He reached the door to the ladies and stepped inside to sanctuary, full clear electric light and safety. After taking several deep and consoling breaths, he opened one of the cubicles and relieved his full bladder. Turning round he washed his hands while listening intently to the silent darkness.
'The return journey was goannie be terrifying'
He dried his hands and stared at the switch. 'I have to put a post-it note next to the switches in the bar to remind me to put this bloody light out first, to save all this nonsense, and that's what it is nonsense.'
Emboldened by his new strength and fortitude, Tommy made his way into the now pitch black corridor, and with both hands on the wall, he shuffled once more along the cold, dark, and silent passageway. The tops of the tables and chairs seemed to shimmer and vibrate in the strange light, as he touched them they solidified and guided him to the pool table.
'Another hurdle crossed, nearly there.' Keeping his eyes away from the bar area, he kept his focus and ran his left hand along the table's edges, which brought him to the door. He was sweating and his knees were shaking now with the pressure. On finding the door, he opened it and stepped down
''WATCH THAT GRANT MITCHELL, E'S A BAD UN.''
Tommy let out a prime-evil scream, an alarm designed to tell every other human being and animal, to flee, don't try to help me, I'm lost, there is no hope, run as fast as you can, flee. That's what Tommy did, he flew out the front door as though the Earl of hell was right behind him.
I was sitting in the cab waiting, as he ran, white faced and screaming outside. He halted his progress by swinging round the lamppost and coming to a complete and breathless stop. He bent down and rested both hands on his knees to catch his breath, while exuding. ''Oh my God! Oh no!
" What is it?" I asked.
" It wasn't only the ladies toilet light I'd left on, the East Enders slot machine in the bar is still running. It frightened the bloody life out of me"
When he had calmed down we both went in and switched everything off before making our way home. I promised my brother I wouldn't tell anyone about this, and as we all know a promise is a promise.
Archived comments for The Ghost of Girdwoods Bar. Savvi on 23-01-2013 The Ghost of Girdwoods Bar. Lol I enjoyed this, clever twist at the end I would of preffered a little more show than tell but thats just me. Nice piece. S Author's Reply:
Thank you very much for your insightful comment. I agree with you and will amend the piece to suit. Weefatfella Texasgreg on 23-01-2013 The Ghost of Girdwoods Bar. ( Amended) Hehe, a promise is a promise. One of my first jobs after serving in the corps was in security. Being the manly sort I am, I was slightly embarrassed to have uttered my surprise too loudly upon discovering CPR dummies in a dark room once. Funny 'un, Duke! Greg π .Author's Reply:
Cheers Greg, had a wee bit of difficulty with this one but got there in the end. Thank you for your kind comments. ( Duke) Weefatfella. Savvi on 23-01-2013 The Ghost of Girdwoods Bar. ( Amended) Hi Duke The edit really works for me the piece is smoother and carries alot more tension, the walk seem more scary if that were possible. Nice job. Savvi Author's Reply:
Thank you very much for your help and your kind comments Weefatfella niece on 24-01-2013 The Ghost of Girdwoods Bar. ( Amended) π ... enjoyed reading this, WFF...it's a good thing you kept your promise... Regds, niece Author's Reply:
You know me niece, I always do. Thank you for your kind comments. Weefatfella |
| The Day of The Spray. (posted on: 18-01-13) I had been feeling unwell and decided to take my spray to relieve my symptoms. The Day Of The Spray. I suffer from more than my fair share of health related problems but the most prevalent, are respiratory and my daughter Jen, who is a nurse, is always worrying about me and asking after me. I can hear her as I sit here, saying. " Remember Dad, if ever you feel really down or unwell, take your spray, it will give you a wee lift, and you will feel much better, but try to use it sparingly and you will get better use from it." I took this on board and promised myself I would only use the spray, if I felt I really needed to. I had dropped the Sweetness off at her God's house in Bathgate and I was feeling really unwell. My head was thumping, I was nauseous, my back was sore and I was feeling really awful. On the drive back, I remembered Jennifer and the spray. "That's what I'll do, when I get in, I'll take that spray and all will be honky-dory." When I got home, I made myself a coffee and took the spray from the cupboard, I sat down and when I had finished my coffee, I read the label on the side of the bottle. ''Spray twice below tongue.'' This I did, it pole-axed me. Immediately after I used it, I slumped in the chair as though Mohammed Ali had chinned me. The world was spinning and a strange, rolling and thrumming noise was pervading everywhere. I had triple vision and I could hardly breath. My body wouldn't answer my commands, when I turned my head, the world was revealed in still shots, which flickered, as I dazedly and dumbly watched. I remembered the Sweetness would be waiting in Bathgate for me. I would have to go and get her, but how could I drive in this condition? I checked my watches. It was 11.fifteen. I would have to go. She will be standing waiting and I didn't want the usual row if I was late, but again, should I drive in this condition? What could they do if I was stopped? I'm on prescription medication, if breathalysed it will show negative, I can't lose, it's raining and my wee wife is standing waiting. I stood up and waited till the room settled, then I staggered to the doors and made my way out onto the spinning planet. On reaching my car, which is a black cab, I was shocked to see that two of my colleagues had parked right beside me and as the cars were side on I couldn't differentiate with registration numbers, so I pressed the key- fob to determine which black-cab was mine. They all flashed, I tried the nearest one and got in. I turned the key, when I looked out of the windscreen over the three bonnets, the road was like a swollen river, swaying and eddying before me. I bravely entered the flow. I indicated right at the Kaim Park roundabout and heard a loud and long car horn from behind me. When I checked the rear view mirror, there was a line of cars stretching back as far as the eye could see, I must have been travelling at about two miles per hour along the main Edinburgh road. I sped up Kirk road and along Marjoribanks street and on into Bathgate. The Sweetnesses were waiting and after I stopped they jumped into the car, " Paul, you look absolutely awful". " well shanks furr shat, I sfeel a wee bit duzzzzy and my vision isnae reawy fwhit it shood be. Do I sounds a fwee shit weirdly?" "Oh no, you shouldn't be driving. How did you manage to even come in? When did it come on? Whit's bliddy wrang wi yie?" This conversation was in my opinion going nowhere. If I didn't begin to drive, neither would we. We made it home without incident (I think) and Theresa took the keys from me and locked the cab. " What has happened to you Paul? You look really ill and you're staggering" " I shwas feeling like shit so I took the shpray" " what spray? Och wait till I get you in," She roughly grabbed my arm and steadied me into the house, where she lowered me into my chair. The offending spray was brazently and unrepentantly, sitting on the unit next to my chair. Theresa picked up the evildoer. " Is this the spray you used?" " Aye, Jennifer said if I shwaz feeling down that would pick me up" " This is nitroglycerin spray Paul, for your heart, in the event of a heart attack this will immediately lower your blood pressure and slow the heart down, to prevent or minimise damage to the heart during the attack. You have in effect, switched yourself off." With the other medication I am on, the effects of the nitro-glycerine had been enhanced, I was lucky to have survived. The problem had been interpretation of Spray or Puffer. I have a lung condition called Methotrexate Pneuminitis, which affects my lungs and I take an inhaler in the morning. The puffer or spray is if I need a wee lift after exertion. I was lucky the wee lift wasn't feet first oot the bloody door wearing a wooden Jacket, with men in long black coats and sad plastic faces. Spray. Or Puffer? 
Puffer..or Spray..?
Archived comments for The Day of The Spray. amman on 18-01-2013 The Day of The Spray. Really enjoyed this WFF; made me larf and no mistake. Remind me never to get in your cab!! Cheers. Author's Reply:
Ha! there's a load of embellishment here. I did take the spray your honour but the effects were, lowered blood pressure and a wee bit tiredness as a result. Nothing like that. Have to preserve my licence don't ya know Taff. ( Apologies) Thank you for your comments much appreciated. Weefatfella. Andrea on 19-01-2013 The Day of The Spray. Could have sworn I commented on this yesterday! Odd! Never mind - a bloody fun read anyway WFF π Author's Reply:
You have so many to get through, It's no wonder. I don't mind when I get comments just as long as I get some. Thank you Andrea for your comment, it is, Appreciated. Weefatfella. xx franciman on 19-01-2013 The Day of The Spray. Definitely a fun read which I enjoyed. I think it could do with a bit of paring and maybe tidying up? If you would like proper critique, I would be happy to do it by p.m. if you were interested? cheers, Jim Author's Reply:
Thank you very much indeed Jim for your Kind request but I feel my work is best presented as it is, rough and raw. I make no pretensions as to my level of technique but I enjoy tremendously what I do. I hope people get something from my weavings and it gives them a laugh, that's why I do it. As a fellow member niece advised me,... " Only write for yourself, then what you write is free from influence" That's what I want to do, that's what pleases me and I hope with this freedom I can please other readers. Thank you for your very kind comments Jim. Weefatfella. Romany on 19-01-2013 The Day of The Spray. Blimey! You got off lightly I think. I take a puffer - your inhaler is definitely a PUFFER, not a spray! Author's Reply:
I know, thank you for your comment it's appreciated. Weefatfella Texasgreg on 20-01-2013 The Day of The Spray. Took me a little while to get to ya Duke, but here I am. I'm just sorry that I've been so busy lately. I always love yer stories and this is no exception. I'd really like to hear recordings of them as I bet you're a gifted orator. Greg π Author's Reply:
Brilliant Gregg, Always makes my day to hear from you. Hope you are keeping well and thank you as always for you kind comments. Honestly. you don't want to hear me speak. I have a very thick Lanarkshire accent. Which according to Bill Bryson ( Tales from a small Island) is the most difficult accent for people from the States to understand. I will remain a mystery in that department. If you don't mind. Again thank you for your very gracious comments. Duke....Weefatfella. niece on 24-01-2013 The Day of The Spray. Glad that you are safe, WFF...it's a good thing that you look at life lightly...the world would be a better place if more people did that π ... great to see you posting again and do take care... Regds, niece Author's Reply:
Thank you niece for you kind comments. I'm very fortunate the women in my life look after me well. Always good to hear from you. Weefatfella |
| Wullie and Wilma. (posted on: 14-01-13) I have been fortunate to live across from the daftest guy I know. Observing him was a constant joy. He has moved away and I am less for it. Wullie and Wilma. It was 11.30 on a Saturday night; I paid the driver and stepped from the taxi outside my house to see my neighbour Wullie Morton. Maybe see him wasn't the right thing to say Wullie was obscured by a massive shell like object on his right shoulder. With every precarious step Wullie took, the shell threatened to draw him to the ground. Wullie was very drunk and on his way through the public park, he had taken one of the park benches, along with maybe fifty plus pounds of concrete, which was hanging from two of the legs. The ungainly weight on his back must have easily been about ten stones. To carry this drunk, along with a Fish supper, was a legendary achievement. I have looked at Wullie with improved respect ever since. The reason Wullie had stolen the bench was to gain brownie points from his attractive but demanding wife Wilma. They had just that year purchased their council house and Wilma wanted a nice wee spot to sit in the sun. There were two obstacles in the way of this plan. One was they had no seating; well Wullie had now solved that problem. The other was there was a huge maple tree in their south facing garden. The tree was putting the garden in permanent shade, much to Wilma's chagrin. Wullie phoned the council and asked to have it removed. He was advised the tree was listed and he had better be careful, if anything happened to the tree from now on, he would be held responsible. They came to a compromise and Wullie was allowed to trim, or lop the organism but he'd better be careful. He and the tree were now being watched. I live across from Wullie, which for me is a bonus. I have a ten-foot square glass sliding door, which allows me a great view of his shenanigans. I sat down one Sunday morning in my chair and made myself comfortable. Across the path from me Wullie and Wilma's red headed but not too bright brother Robert (no hair just a red head. Chick Murray) were beginning to attempt to open up the back garden for sunbathing. They were armed with a chain saw, a ladder, one of those sliding aluminium contraptions and various lengths and thicknesses of rope. Wullie had donned safety goggles and thick hide elbow length gloves and the brother was responsibly wearing a yellow hard hat and hi viz jacket, I was suitably impressed. Wullie looking the part wrapped a thin coil of rope round his right shoulder and after placing the ladder against the bough of the tree, he shakily began to climb, I was enthralled. On reaching a thick limb, Wullie secured himself bough-side and unrolled the thin rope which he lowered to Robert, who tied the chainsaw to it and Wullie drew the machine up the tree using the ladder as a ramp. I was very impressed. I was now sitting on the edge of my seat, captivated. They would tie a thick rope to a branch, Robert would take the strain and when Wullie sliced through, the cutting was pulled away from Ian the next door neighbour's fence to land safely in Wullie and Wilma's garden, all very professional. I was starting to get bored. I knew Wullie however and I also knew I wouldn't be disappointed. Wullie was now beginning to get fed up, they were three hours into the job and although a huge pile of branches was lying in the garden. The task was taking forever. Wullie began to take short cuts. He was now cutting thicker and longer branches and with Robert pulling harder and putting more strength into his work they were getting away with it. Soon Robert began to tire and two or three branches just missed the fence. I made myself another coffee. When I sat back down Wullie had climbed higher up the tree and was tying the rope round a very large limb. If this branch had been in the ground it would have been a formidable tree in it's own right. Wullie was head down and arse up into the job, he was tired and sweating and clearly wanted to see some sort of result for his work. Things from my perspective were improving. The very thick, long and heavy limb was being sliced into, sawdust was flying everywhere, and Robert was picking his nose. A loud crack! Was heard and the limb split and tore itself away from the bough of the tree. Wullie was catapulted ten feet up the tree where he thankfully grabbed onto a thick branch, which was for the moment holding him. Robert on hearing the loud crack had scampered. The limb fell to the ground; the fence was smashed into kindling, which flew spinning dangerously all around. Ian the next door neighbour's garden shed disappeared among the limbs branches, the only evidence of a shed being there at all was the flying paint tins and a whirling lawnmower, which was in a ballet dance with a bicycle, pirouetting over the fence behind and disappearing into infinity. A pair of shears had embedded themselves into the side of the tree. I was in fits, Wullie was in shock and Robert was nowhere to be seen as Wilma stepped out the back door and into the garden. The upshot of all this was, Wullie had to buy Ian a new shed and lawnmower, along with a new fence. Wilma had her sunshine and time marched on. I looked out the window maybe three weeks after the tree incident to see Wullie, armed with a six-foot fence-post, which he was presenting to a hole in the ground, and attempting to hammer in with a 16lb heavy long shafted hammer. He was having difficulty; the post just wouldn't go in. He left the scene and enlisted the aid of his wife Wilma. She was clearly afraid, she knew her husband. The last thing anyone would want to do in my and Wilma's opinion, was to place their head anywhere near Wullie armed with a heavy hammer. I could hear Wilma talking to him " Right Wullie you be careful here. When I nod my head, you hit it.... eh! The post Wullie, no, no, I can't do this, I don't trust you." " Fine " He lifted the post and petulantly stormed away, he returned a few minutes later, he had nailed a two-foot long strap of wood to the post for Wilma to hold, putting her out of harms way. Wullie again retreated to return with a kitchen chair, he stood on the chair and His dutiful wife handed him the hammer. Wilma again grabbed the post, using the wood strap she inserted the post into the hole in the ground, she steadied her feet and nodded her head, Wullie spat on his hands and rubbed them together, he reverently lifted the hammer and began to swing it like a pendulum in a wider and wider arc, when he reached the perfect apex he made a swing worthy of Thor himself. When Mjollnir struck the post dead centre, the post took off and flew twenty foot into the air, followed by hundreds of gallons of fresh water which shot up in a fountain fifty foot high. Wullie,Wilma, the hammer and the chair, were washed away spinning together downhill past the tree, I was on my feet to see Ian's new shed turn slowly to the right, where it then began to bob up and down as it followed Ian's back fence downhill and away. They had hit the water main. Willie and Wilma moved away shortly after that and I must say, I do miss them. 
Archived comments for Wullie and Wilma. roger303 on 14-01-2013 Wullie and Wilma. Welcome back WFF! A right good laugh, as always! Keep 'em coming. Roger Author's Reply:
Thank you very much for your kind comment Roger. It's good to be back. Texasgreg on 15-01-2013 Wullie and Wilma. Good Lord! I hope this is your imagination, Lol.... Super funny story to make your return with, Duke! You never disappoint me. Greg π Author's Reply:
Hi, Gregg, It is in fact partly true, so close to the truth I had to get permission from my eldest daughter Angela, her best friend Donna is the daughter of Wullie and Wilma Obviously not their proper names. Pleased you enjoyed it I have fixed the problem you referred to. Again thanks Gregg. Mikeverdi on 16-01-2013 Wullie and Wilma. Simply brilliant, I loved your story. Mike Author's Reply:
Thank you very much for your kind comment. Glad you enjoyed it. Weefatfella Andrea on 17-01-2013 Wullie and Wilma. Hahaha, brilliant WFF - loved it and great to see you posting again! Author's Reply:
Wooohooo! Andrea you have made my day. Thank you for the nib I hope I deserve It. Absolutely over the moon! Weefatfella. Andrea on 17-01-2013 Wullie and Wilma. How do you know it was me? π I ain't the only nibber, y'know... A great comeback anyway π Author's Reply: Thank You Maam.x |
| The Brothers.... Grim. (posted on: 15-10-12) Two brothers, one hard working, the other a waster and a thief. The Brothers Grimm. Gerry Steel and his estranged wife Maureen, left the West End bar in Wishaw and made their way to the Commercial Hotel across the road. As they walked in, one of several topers' standing at the bar greeted Gerry, ''Hi Brian,'' Anyone who has brothers knows when this happens, to save time, you take the call for your brother and just say Hello. ''Hi. Eh, Eddie?'' ''Ma names Tam.'' ''Aw, hi Tam. How are yie?'' ''Aye A'm fine.'' Gerry and his wife carried on through the bar and into the lounge. After getting a drink they sat down to discuss their at that time, failing marriage. Gerry had made a stupid mistake and Maureen had asked for space to think. They were trying tonight for the sake of their two children; to talk things over and hopefully set things back on track. Gerry nervously took out his cigarettes for a smoke, when he opened his matchbox he noticed he had only one match left. With the difficult conversation to come, he asked Maureen for leave to go and get more matches. He left by the side door and walked over to the Belhaven Cafe next door to the West End. After buying the matches he came out of the cafe and instinctively walked straight across the road and in through the Commercial front door, again he was greeted by Tam. ''Oh, hi Gerry, how are yie? Yir brother Brian's away intae the lounge.'' ''Oh, is he? Thanks Tam, I'll jist go in there then.'' ''Oh, aye, yiz huv the same taste in Jackets a see.'' Observed Tam, as he waved his pint at the departing Gerry. Things didn't go well with Maureen and she stormed out in tears. Gerry, infuriated with himself, sat and watched her go. He finished his pint and decided to drown his sorrows. After checking his wallet, there seemed to be thirty pounds missing. Gerry always knew how much he carried and it was only since moving in with his mother and waster brother Brian, that things weren't always right in the money department. It was always a tenner before, which wasn't worth causing a fuss over, but with things going badly with Maureen, Gerry was going to take his ire out on his thieving brother Brian. After all, he had never worked and was always sponging off him or his pensioner mother; Gerry was going to have to throw a couple of right hooks at his brother. Brian always drank in the Imperial. Gerry made his way there. He threw open the door of The Imperial bar and standing at the bar with fresh pint in hand was Brian. ''Ya durty thievin bastard, you stole thirty pounds oot ma wallet, I'm goin tae lift yir heid right aff yir shooders.'' ''A'm no the basturd you are, you're the auldest and anyway A never touched yir money ya bawbag. If it's a battle yie want, bring it on, A'm jist in the mood fur yie.'' '' Hold it, hold it," said Libby the barman. " If you two brothers are gonnie go furrit, take it oot the back.'' He opened the back door, ringing the bell for the two brothers to begin. The back yard of the Imperial is covered in red ash, broken glass, puddles, old cars and dog-shit. Gerry was giving Brian the hiding of his life and after knocking him down through a puddle and up against an old Volkswagen beetle's rusted wheel; Brian held his soaking and dog-shit covered hand up. ''Right, right you win, I'm sorry.'' ''Sorry is nae guid tae me, I'm no finished wie you yit, I've mare tae gie yie.'' ''Naw, yie huv tae help me up, please.'' ''Aw, please is it? Fuckin please noo, efter A've knocked the shit oot yie, it's please?'' ''Aye, yie really huv tae help me up.'' '' Why?'' ''Cause A'm wearing your Jacket.' Replied Brian. Archived comments for The Brothers.... Grim. Mikeverdi on 15-10-2012 The Brothers.... Grim. Love it !! The ending was priceless. Mike Author's Reply:
Cheers Mike, glad you enjoyed it. Weefatfella. Andrea on 15-10-2012 The Brothers.... Grim. Hahaha, brilliant - loved it! Never thought I'd say this, but the accent's great too π Author's Reply:
Aye, we'll huv yie oan the porridge yit. Hanks fur yir comments, Appreciatit. Weefatfella. Andrea on 16-10-2012 The Brothers.... Grim. Whaddya mean? I have me oats every morning! Author's Reply:
Ohhhh Myyyy. ValDohren on 16-10-2012 The Brothers.... Grim. LOL very funny WFF !! Val Author's Reply:
Thank you for reading and commenting Val. Weefatfella. expat on 21-10-2012 The Brothers.... Grim. You've definitely got a knack for these short vignettes, WFF! Some capitals popping up where they don't belong but that's trifling stuff. Looking forward to your next story, Steve :^) Author's Reply:
Cheers Steve appreciate you popping in. Thanks mate. Weefatfella. Texasgreg on 24-11-2012 The Brothers.... Grim. Playin' catch up. Aye! What did I tell ya? You have story-tellin talent, my friend... Greg π Author's Reply: |
| Plenty Of Fish. (posted on: 12-10-12) A step beyond lonely hearts. Plenty Of Fish. I drew onto the rank in the town centre, Charlie was at his boot pouring himself a coffee. He looked terrible. I leaned out the window and called, ''You awright?'' ''Aye I'm jist burnt oot, I had a visitor last night, Goad she's nearly drained me aw the gither. I can hardly move, ma legs and ma hips are killing me, must be wie aw that thrustin.'' As he said thrustin, he held his hands out wrists up and thrust his hips suggestively, a wee woman looked over as she passed and sneering at him called, ''away and behave yirsell ya durty wee bugger.'' ''So who was your visitor then?''' I asked as I stepped out of the Taxi ''Ae, aw naebudy jist a lassie.'' ''Cumoan Charlie it wiznae jist a lassie when she's got yie in that state.'' ''Och, I've been on ma own furra while noo and that hoose is awffie quiet when A go hame. It's always jist me and the telly.'' '' Whit are yie sayin then, are yie lonely?'' Charlie took a drink of his coffee, I could see his eyebrow lifting and even behind the large coffee mug he had a mischievous wicked grin. ''Naw A'm no lonely, A'm hoarny.'' ''Aye, well yi've always been that Charlie, so, where did yie meet the nympho then?'' ''Plenty of fish'' ''Whit's plenty of fish?'' ''It's a web-site yie join. Yie put a photo ae yirsell in, and yie write a wee profile, age, whether yir hetero,gay or convertible and yir location. Woman contact yie, or when yi'r on the site yie can contact them, as the wee meerkat says simples.'' ''Aye so there are no strings attached, jist a meeting of bodies rather than minds.'' ''Aye, it's awright fur you standin there, but when you go hame y'iv gote yir wife there and she's gote you,but when A go hame, well, A've already said it's quiet.'' I could see his point. The following Monday I again drew onto the centre rank and there again was Charlie, I got out for blether. ''Well, were yie fishin at the week-end?'' ''Fishin fur fuck sake mate a wiz trawlin.'' '' Trawlin whit dae yie mean ya wee hoarny bugger?'' Charlie came over all-conspiratorial. ''A went oan the plenty of fish site oan the Thursday, and I spotted a nice lookin wuman . Even knowin that women always choose a photo that's years out of date but they use it anyway. Yie jist add the years oan as best yie can. We arranged tae meet in the Arse and Honcher at eight o clock on Sat night.'' The lady turned up, and Charlie having her photo was able to recognise her. When she walked in, he waved and smiled. She came over and Charlie bought her a drink. They sat down, during this period of acceptance; either party can without prejudice terminate the assignation with no questions asked. They both agreed to continue with things but would have a wee get to know each other drink, all very civilised, until. After the third drink the wee wuman asked, '' Eh, Charlie, there could be a wee change of plan if you are the man I think you are?'' ''Aw is that right? Said Charlie, "and whit would that be?'' '' How wid yie fancy a mιnage a trois?'' ''Och A'm no hungry and A'm no intae foreign food, A quite like a wee curry but Italian food gies me a sare gut and a fart a lot wie it.'' ''Naw ya arse, three in the bed, that's whit mιnage a trois means.'' ''So who's the three in the bed goannie being?'' ''Wid yie fancy Mother and Daughter?'' Charlie looked at her, she was a fine lookin women and he had no doubt her daughter who could only be in her thirties at the least, would be just as easy on the eye, excitedly he stood up. ''Right ya belter let's go. Yi've gote me aw excited noo, taxi fur Charlie.'' The taxi stopped outside the house and they went in. Charlie was asked to stand at the bottom of the stairs while she went up to waken the third party, he watched as she stopped at the first bedroom door upstairs and knocking on the door she called, ''Mother he's here.'' Archived comments for Plenty Of Fish. Mikeverdi on 12-10-2012 Plenty Of Fish. I have heard the joke before, but never told as well as that. brilliant !! and I still wasn't ready for the end. Mike Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind comments. I'm going through a dry patch at the moment. I thought this might fire me up. Apologise for the old joke. I'll be back. Weefatfella. roger303 on 12-10-2012 Plenty Of Fish. as ever WWF you brighten my day. Heard it before but you told it brilliantly and I enjoyed a good laugh. Sort of ending that would happen to me! Thanks for posting it. Roger Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind comments Roger, I'll have to get my thinking cap on. I apologise for the old joke. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 12-10-2012 Plenty Of Fish. You don't have to apologise it was brilliant. As an old comedian used to say 'Its the way you tell them' Author's Reply:
Thanks again Mike. I'll batter oan regardless, nae doobt A'll come back fightin. Weefatfella. ValDohren on 12-10-2012 Plenty Of Fish. Loved it WFF, all the more with the added zest of Scottish dialect. Val xx Author's Reply:
Thank You Val, you're always very gracious. Weefatfella. Andrea on 13-10-2012 Plenty Of Fish. hetro, gay or convertible - great! (although 'hetro' should be 'hetero') Some cracking turns of phrases you've got though π Loved it. Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea No sooner said. Thank you for your always constructive comments, they are appreciated. Weefatfella. expat on 14-10-2012 Plenty Of Fish. Your short pieces are a 'first read' for me each publishing day, WFF! Sure, the joke's an old one but it's still a howler in this story. And this bit: 'How wid yie fancy a mΓ©nage a trois?' 'Och a'm no hungry and a'm no intae foreign food.' Nearly sprayed my beer over the screen! π A great read and the dialect is the icing on the cake. Steve. Author's Reply:
Thanks very much for your very kind comments expat. I'm on a bit f a dry patch at the moment but I'm confident I'll get there . Your Comments have helped. Thanks again. Weefatfella. |
| New Freedom Chapter Eight. (posted on: 08-10-12) Leathig Despairs. Water dripped incessantly onto the cave floor, it was dark and oppressively dank, with shadows... flickering over the undulating wet sides of the cave. The stomach turning reek of urine and feaces pervaded the close air. The oil and hemp torch,lying at an untidy angle, had been stuffed into it's receptacle and dripped black molten pitch onto the bars of the sconce which fell gathering into a mess on the slimy uneven floor. The black oily foetid smoke retreated from the yellow flame onto the ceiling. Leathig opened his swollen eyes, he was naked, hungry and afraid,sweat ran down his face seeping into his long grey beard making it itch.Something scurried close to his elbow, he gasped, he could just see the long tail of the rat as it receded over a leg bone lying on the floor. His hands were tied behind his back, his left leg was uncomfortable below him and was beginning to cramp. He tried to move to make himself more comfortable, he couldn't, the leg was tied tightly with rope to his right knee. No matter what he tried,whatever position he tried to move into, the cramps increased. He groaned and called out weakly, a dull echo answered him, he attempted rolling over on his bound arms, no, he was tied to a rusted ring on the wall, He called out in anger 'release me', no answer. Footsteps, who's coming? The glow of the torch stretched along the roof getting closer, someone coughed, clearing their throat and spat noisily on the wall. The scrape of heavy boots on the floor and a huge shadow behind a flaming oil torch threateningly approached. 'You awake priest? Open your eyes, breakfast'. A tin plate bounced off his bare foot and rattled on the stone floor, the contents spilling. The jailer placed a metal cup down,it made an empty hollow sound as it touched the rock. He couldn't see, the flame of the torch was being waved in his face going from side to side. 'How can I eat? My hands are tied', he asked the shadow 'use your mouth', the jailer laughed, repeating it to himself as he and the flame receded. He turned the corner, keys rattled, a door creaked and slammed, the lock turned, with that, the turnkey was gone. Leathig searched again for any spark of power he might utilise to escape this pit, he found nothing but a slight red flicker of malevolence, as he reached for this, his stomach lurched, he would have been sick but his stomach was empty. While retching, he leaned back on the wall. ' Where is the comforting Angel I was promised? Where is my hope and succour lord? He appealed to the stains on the black filthy cave roof,' ' Lord,' he screamed, ' why have you forsaken me ?' Leathig lowered his exhausted head to his chest and slipped into hopeless despair. The Arch-demon Asmodene sat in his hall, the room was huge, with large deep fire-pits giving shadowed and flickering illumination, large oil-lamps hanging on long chains, along with huge smoking torches lit the cavern. The chamber was six hundred feet in length, with marbled pillars reaching 200 feet into the vaulted ceiling, cherubs and imps were in combat on the ceiling high above. The dancing shadows choreographing and animating the carvings. Huge winged Gargoyle heads, with tongues protruding, topped the pillars. Standards and shields crossed with weapons, swords, pikes, lances and deadly spiked maces lined the walls. From the heavy Iron studded double doors to the south, the floor was raised on three levels increasing in height until reaching the Demon, sitting on his iron chair in front of a massive flag bearing the hexagonal double triangle, one facing up the other facing down, the sigil of Satan lord of Hell. Clasped in his black taloned fist, was an orb, dark green, nearly black, a swirling mist covering the entire face of it. The Demon gazed seeing Leathig in his cell three floors below. The priest was nearly ready, he was in despair, he had lost faith in his God and soon the demon seed inside him would start to convert his human genes to demon genes. He would soon be ready to take up the role Asmodene had prepared for him, The Demon needed a leader for his army and Leathig after his conversion would be the perfect choice. The Demon stood up, two black Azazel eyed him warily and moved from underfoot, Astorath and Asmodeth his mate, had been sitting at the Demon's feet like cowed dogs. They wore black boiled leather armour which fitted tightly, with spikes round the neck and wrists and embossed muscles all over, giving the appearance of great strength and fitness. They were large and strong, over six foot tall when on hind legs. Black in colour with thick yellow horns either side of their foreheads. The horns thick at the base ribbed and twenty inches in length, were curved and tapered to a point. They had huge teeth curling either side of their massive maws. Their hairy feet were hoofed but with long razor like claws sticking out either side. When Leathig was recruited, these'' faithful dogs'', would be his constant companions and protectors. They slunk slowly with heads down towards the wall and safety. The Demon walked purposefully towards the iron door, his boot-heels tapping his progress. On reaching the iron door it opened. He left the hall and descended the winding stairs to the ''Chapel'', on entering, a Troll dropped to his knees in supplication. 'Master I am almost done, he exclaimed. The green Troll was tall and slender, with two horns at the front of his forehead, his arms were very long reaching to his knees. He had a wide mouth, with too many long and pointed teeth behind his thin blue lips, his sharp pointed nose with flaring nostrils protruded beneath his large yellow eyes. Held in his clawed hand,was a tear drop shaped orb, blue and green coloured with a sharp pointed base. ' If the master would condone to empower the orb, the task would be completed?' the Troll hissed. The Demon grabbed the orb from the Troll and scratched his talon's into the surface. He breathed over it, vapour rose and coiled, heavy and smoke like, 'Give me the staff,'' the Demon ordered. Leathig's staff was floating in a tar like vitriol pool, steam was rising and a grey vapour swirled and caressed the staff like a sickness. The Troll waded waist deep into the liquid and pulled the staff out, he grimaced as it burned his claw and dripped acid onto the floor. The Demon took the staff and holding it between his knees he forced the sharp base of the orb into the top of it. The staff resisted. Asmodene Arch demon, opened his jaws and roared while shaking his head. He called out in a strange language. A horrible and vile incantation. The air in the ''Chapel'' chilled, the Troll cowered, his eye's rolling, casting glances all around, while the floor of the ''Chapel'' Lurched. Again the Demon called out, and slowly the orb's pointed base parted and invaded the staff head. He forced the orb deeper into the split until only the round part could be seen, reaching out he grabbed the Troll and pulled him closer. 'Mercy master,' cried the troll. Asmodene grabbed the Troll's arm and ripped off his claw, tearing it away from the elbow. The Troll screamed. He crafted the claw into the staff so that the fingers curled round the orb. The Troll's skin, bone and muscle grafted onto the wood of the staff, and became part of it, gripping tightly and holding the orb firmly in place. The Troll scurried away nursing his torn and mutilated limb, dripping what passed for his blood on the floor, he whimpered. ' Be still, said the Demon 'it will grow back soon enough. He raised the staff it rippled with evil. Asmodene sneered, 'Oh yes, he said, a good job and well done. Archived comments for New Freedom Chapter Eight. Mikeverdi on 09-10-2012 New Freedom Chapter Eight.{ Formerly Demons Lair. } Mr Weefatfella, I loved every word of this, so much that I am thinking of taking up Golf instead of writing!! Thanks for this one lol. I will look for the rest now. Mike Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Mike for your kind comments. I have been waiting for a comment on this. Thanks for getting the ball rolling. Weefatfella. ValDohren on 09-10-2012 New Freedom Chapter Eight.{ Formerly Demons Lair. } A gripping story - can't wait for the next instalment. Love a bit of gore !! Val π Author's Reply:
Thanks Val. Sorry I'm late with this reply but I've started back to work ( maybe a wee bit too early) and I'm shattered when I come home. I'll get there. Thank you for your comments. Weefatfella |
| The satyriasis. (posted on: 05-10-12) ' Hawd oan tae yir underwear Aggie, fur there's a bull cumin intae the field ae Kilcagie oan Seturday nicht.' The Satyriasis. Young Jim, would come into the howf at the Lanarkshire steelworks on a Monday morning, and regale everybody with his tales of sexual conquest. Much to the annoyance of Jock the welder, Who would berate Jim at every opportunity. ''I'll tell yie wan thing son, Yie can spin a yarn I'll give yie that.'' ''Whit yie talkin aboot Jock. Dae you think I'm kiddin yie oan? I can assure yie, If I say it happened Big-Man, it happened.'' ''Aye well, if that's the case, can yie git me a wuman ? Fur I've been withoot the fairer sex for a while noo, and I could fair go a wee bit ae attention fae wan ae them. Dae yie ken whit I mean son?'' ''Aw aye Jock but yir a lot aulder than me and I widnae know any wuman ae your vintage, except maybe Aggie.'' Jock perked up, ''Aggie?'' ''Aye, Aggie fae the Star Inn, she's aboot ages wie you. She's always in the Star oan a Seturday. Git yir arse in there big-Man. Buy Aggie a drink, and Boab's Merrit tae yir Aunty.'' Jock got up to take his tinny to the sink to rinse. He turned round and pointed with the can at Jim. ''You better no be huvin me oan young-yin, cause this bastirt will be in the Star in... Where did yie say it wiz?'' ''Kilcagie?'' ''Aye, Kilcagie, I'll see aboot this Aggie oan Seturday.'' He rubbed his hands then clapped them together with excitement. '' Hawd oan tae yir underwear Aggie, fur there's a bull cumin intae the field ae Kilcagie oan Seturday nicht.'' Jock stood waiting at the bar. The barman, Cooky, was preparing a cocktail for Aggie. She was torturing a tall barstool; Jock checked the legs of the stool to see if they were bowed. Aggie looked to be at least 18 stones or thereabout. She had long straggly and curly hair, dyed incredibly black, which fell level with the bottom of her ribs. You couldn't say waist, there was no evidence of one. She was wrapped in, a black and white polka-dot dress, which terminated a few inches above her knees but while on the stool, was revealing what she termed to herself her, 'Haud-me-in.' This was an elastic, with plastic, piece of women's attire designed to reshape or at the very least, re-align the wearer, into near enough the shape of a thinner her. The Haud-me-in,was toothpaste-tubing Aggie's body, and as the adipose tissue couldn't go down. Aggie was the proud possessor of a remarkably huge dιcolletage. It was the latter that had Jock excited. Cooky handed Aggie her refreshment and turned his attention to Jock, ''Aye, hello, whit are you havin ?'' ''Eh, A pint of heavy please,''said Jock. Cooky poured the pint while Jock stared down Aggie's top. ''Have you lost something son? Because if you have, ye'll no find it doon there.'' ''Naw, sorry hen, I was just thinking, it was just passing thoughts, that's aw.'' ''As long as it's no wind yir passing, that's okay. Eh, Cooky '' ''Aye Aggie, whatever you say,''answered Cooky, as he shook his head and raised his eyes from the same cleft. ''I've not seen you about here before, asked Aggie, are you from Kilcagie ?'' ''Naw, I'm from Bellsend, I just fancied a wee change.'' ''Wee change of whit? Scenery, cause the way your starin doon at my necessaries, your lookin for mair than a change ae bliddy scenery.'' ''Well the view is lookin good frae here,''said Jock smiling. ''Aggie laughed and said ' Bellsend, are they all like you there, strong and manly, and quick with the banter?'' ''Naw jist me. Eh, did you know that I can tell the day a woman wiz born jist by feelin her breasts?'' ''How's that possible?'' said Aggie, sneering in disbelief. ''Im tellin yie, I can dae it, and I've never been wrang yit.'' Aggie started to draw in air. Cooky moved out of the way, in case pieces of elastic or buttons broke free and came his way. Aggies huge chest inflated. While holding her breath, she proffered her assets to Jock, who had a good feel around before dropping his hands to his side. Aggie deflated her huge chest and demanded. ''Well, whit's yir answer?'' Jock took a sip from his pint and said, ''Yisterday,'' Aggie burst out laughing. ''Ya fly durty basturd, git me a Pink-Gin.'' That was that, Jock had pulled. They spent the rest of the night together in the pub, which cost Jock a small fortune. The bar closed and they went outside, Jock flagged a passing Taxi. Later, in Aggie's house, after the first wee intimacy; a slurp at each other's faces while Jock played the guess the weight game with Aggie's breasts. Aggie leant down and patted Jock's lunch-box, while saying, ''I'll just away and slip into something more comfortable big boy, you make yourself at home.'' She returned a short time later wearing a boa, Basque and fishnet stockings with suspenders, and long black leather boots, with stiletto heels. In her hand, was a black leather whip, which she was waving about with a maniacal expression on her face, saying, ''Oh, you naughty boy.'' Jock was up and out like a greyhound from the traps. Archived comments for The satyriasis. Andrea on 05-10-2012 The satyriasis. 'She was torturing a tall barstool...' - brilliant! You have a way with word alright, WFF. What a tale. And yes, I'm getting there with the accent π Author's Reply:  Andrea, please forgive me I really thought I had replied to this, I never do that sorry. Thank for not just 'popping your head round' but for making a comment. I knew if I kept throwing in the Aye's and yirs yie wid git there. The secret with accents is the spelling which is imprecise but when chosen must be maintained. Thanks Again Gaffer fur yir magic comments. Weefatfella. roger303 on 05-10-2012 The satyriasis. Brilliant WWF. Aggie could be the character in a poem I wrote yesterday entitled "Obesity". I thought the punchline to the breast feeling was going to turn out to be as in an old joke I know, but you proved me wrong. Thanks for posting it. Roger Author's Reply: 
Thank You Roger. I was in a foul mood coupla nights ago and decided to cheer myself up, Along came Aggie and Jock. In a mirror Dinghy, ready to turn about .....Leo. Thank You for your kind comments. You'll have to tell that joke one day. Weefatfella. stormwolf on 06-10-2012 The satyriasis. Well, I thought that was pure dead brilliant! It may be difficult for some to get the patter but it had me in stitches. Hilarious and very well written. A winner! Alison x Author's Reply:
My God Alison, coming from yourself it's Praise indeed. (Is 'Mortified' a Scottish word ?) Thank You very much. I'm fair mortified. Weefatfella. I never noticed the Nomination. Thank you Again Alison. I'm Humbled and cheered. amman on 06-10-2012 The satyriasis. Very funny and very good. Love the ending. Cheers. Author's Reply:
Thanks again amman. appreciated. ValDohren on 07-10-2012 The satyriasis. Well, it was a struggle, but I got there in the end - very funny write. Think I need to spend more time in bonnie Scotland ! Author's Reply: Aye, Well hanks a bundle hen, am ower ra moon that yiv'e taken the time tae lit me ken yie hud taken a swatch at ma drivels. Fur yie like a've sent thae twa guys tae see yie furra cairry oan. Yi'll be gittin a sair nut wi aw this Scoattish patter gittin drapped roon aboot yirsell. Weefatfella. Yes, well thanks a great deal Madam. I'm over the moon that you've taken the time to let me know You had perused my meanderings. I've proffered a small distraction by the two famous gentlemen above, for your delectation. In an attempt to offset any cephalalgia you may have experienced as a result of being hard pressed by my overuse of Scottish vernacular. Weefatfella. Kat on 11-04-2013 The satyriasis. Loved it! Well done on a good write. Love the vernacular. You deserve to go far... ! :^) A nom for the anthology from me. Hope to get your taxi number from you when I'm back in Edinburgh living from next month... can't wait for the banter... haha. Kat x Author's Reply: 
Sorry it's taken so long to reply Kat but I missed this entirely. Thank you very much for the nomination and for your generous comments. Incidentally I don't work in Edinburgh I work in West Lothian. Thank you again. Weefatfella. |
| New Freedom chapter Seven. (posted on: 05-10-12) Abandon hope all ye who enter here. Through me you pass into the city of woe. Through me you pass into eternal pain. Through me among the people ye are lost. The wheel of the cart bumped noisily, crushing the pebbles as it crawled over the deep, rutted ground. Thin, bent sycamores hanging over the small embankment, gave little shade from the cooking sun. Leathig stumbled, the chains on his feet were linked to a leather girdle on his waist. His staff was being used as a yolk. His arms were wrapped round the staff, with his wrists shackled to the same chain linked through the girdle. When he tripped, the whole system threatened to pull him down. The troll captain hurried over and grabbed the end of the staff, steadying him. He was tall for one of his kind, nearly six foot and broad. He wore black beaten copper armour. Muscle had been etched into the chest plate. A horned helm covered his fat and very ugly face. He had wide yellow eyes and a short fat nose with flared nostrils, his thin lips couldn't contain the filthy mouthful of file sharpened and rotten black teeth. "Careful Sweetling, you don't want to mark that pretty face, he wouldn't like it.There's not long to go my pretty and he don't want you marked." He grabbed a mittfull of Leathig's hair and pulled his head from side to side, before slapping him hard on the face. " Ragnor, get up here". A thin, even uglier troll came running, his loose armour clinking as he ran, "I'm here cap'n wot'ja need ?" "Make sure this meat doesn't fall, if there's a mark on him I'll put two on you." "But cap'n, how do I stop him fallin ?"The captain ignored him as he walked away. The troll kicked Leathig. "You better stay on your feet, if you fall you Demon's bastard I'll stick this in yer." He showed Leathig a three foot long and very lethal looking scimitar. The cart slowed, turning into a narrow track between large rosemary bushes, Leathig was pulled along. They stopped at the entrance to a low cavern. Torches lit the walls, but the weak light didn't penetrate to the floor. Two sentry trolls were sitting inside at a fire, on seeing the party entering, they stood up, the taller of them spoke, " What do you want here,? Go away we're busy enough wiffout you shit eaters giving us any more to do." The captain lowered his head and sighed, when he lifted it, he walked purposefully to the taller troll and drawing his battleaxe, he swung. The heavy half moon bladed weapon cleaved the troll's head in half, from his helm to his chin. The black troll blood, exploded,from the skull, the grey brains shot out like muccus covering everything, Leathig felt the warm spray on his face. The captain, well practiced, followed the body as it fell, placing his booted foot on the dead troll's chest, he levered the axe head out of the cloven skull and as he spun, he called, " open the door rat-meat or your next.'" The surviving sentry hurried to pull a lever hidden in the cave wall. To the left a part of the wall rolled back revealing a long torch lit passageway, with carved steps going down. ' Release the priest from the cart, and hold him tightly, if he escapes I'll have you all fed to the Grimvold. ' They began the descent into the dimly lit cavern. Leathig with the weight of the chains hampering him kept slipping on the wet and slimy steps. The captain stomped impatiently back and grabbing Leathig's head with one hand, he pushed him back into the wall, where he covered his mouth and nose, Leathig's head began to spin and his body began to convulse, the last thing he saw was the snarling face of the troll captain as he again lost consciousness. Leathig coughed, he was under a heavy fast flowing natural shower of hot spring water, He was naked. The two trolls were sniggering while they pulled him from the flow and rubbed mud all over his skin, then they pushed him back in again to rinse it off. '"That's right priest, he'll want you clean, he likes his girlies spotless does the Lord." They pulled him by his wrist chains, along a smooth walled passage. The torches here were brighter and better maintained. A red door stood at the end of the passageway, which was guarded by a huge black thrall, he was thickly muscled and carrying a heavy spiked mace. He spoke," Leave him with me maggots, I'll deal with him from here." He opened the door and dragged the naked priest inside " Please, no more, what's happening?" Leathig struggled but the man's strength was too much, he threw him through the open door, Leathig fell on the floor .The room was brightly lit with large animal head shaped clay pots, which hung brightly from every corner, a huge wheel with several light pots attached hung from the centre of the roof. Tapestries portraying naked men and women fornicating in all sorts of positions covered the walls. Plush Persian carpets softened the stone floors. A sinister cylindrical shaped apparatus sat on wheels in the middle of the floor. The big black man pushed Leathig towards this. Taking the chain from Leathig's right wrist, he threaded it through a ring on the bottom of the cylinders base, he did the same with the left. After parting Leathig's feet he attached a leather strap to each ankle and secured his legs to the base of the contraption. The man walked calmly round to the front and taking the rings of both chains he waited. Leathig's back was beginning to cramp, he appealed to the man, " Please, my back......." The chains were drawn quickly and an excruciating pain shot along his spine. He heard the door opening. The look of dread on the man's face was enough to let Leathig know someone or something of great significance had entered the room. The thrall cowered down with his eyes closed, sweat began to bead on his forehead even though the temperature in the room had dropped dramatically. " Ah, Leathig, I have waited for you for such a long time but never mind, you are mine now and we will work together to do great things." This grating voice, interspersed with low breathy growls, was like stones grinding on bones and when he spoke, the air chilled. "I want to be released," cried Leathig, " please, let me go." "You are free Leathig, I am setting you free, with my essence inside you, you will grow and be like my son. There is no greater gift I can give you ?" " I want to go to my people, please, let me go to my people." " That is my plan Leathig my son. You, will return to the Hebrew's in glory, at the head of a great army and together, we will destroy this hated covenant." Leathig felt a sharp pain on the top of each shoulder. The Demon had sunk his talons into Him, to hold him in place . The thrall, still with his eyes closed but now breathing heavily pulled harder on the chains. Asmodene,entered Leathig. The pain was unbearable, both physical and mental. This was unendurable, but it continued. Leathig screamed,The pain was excruciating. It went on and on. The thrall pulled the chains tighter, as Leathig struggled harder, calling on desperate strength to try to escape this unimaginable situation. The pain in his mind was even worse. How could he enter the kingdom of heaven now ? He had been sodomised, the rules were clear. He would never see the face of his God again. He had been sacrificed to this Demon. Leathig wailed and fell into despair. The Demon after ejaculating his seed into Leathig, eventually withdrew and left the room. Leathig lay over the cylinder and shed bitter tears. All he believed in had been violated. All that he was, had changed: he was defiled. The black servant released the chains and almost had to carry the priest into his holding cell. Leathig was tied and chained to the wall. The thrall left him to his suffering. Archived comments for New Freedom chapter Seven. amman on 06-10-2012 New Freedom chapter Seven. Very interesting part of the story WFF. Poor old Leathig, he can't win. can he. All the tighter with fewer characters to keep in mind. Cheers. Author's Reply:
Thank you very much amman for commenting.......at last!...............I'm losing confidence in this but the problem is. It's very early in the story, there are many characters and I'm the only one who knows where it's going. I'm very grateful for your help in this amman so I will sodjer oan. ValDohren on 07-10-2012 New Freedom chapter Seven. Sounds like a scene from Lord of the Rings - I've got a couple of trolls in my lounge which I brought home from our trip to Norway a few years ago, don't know whats in their heads, never tried cleaving them open ! Interesting story, presume there is more to come. Author's Reply: />Yes This is chapter 7 Thank you very much for reading Val. I'm getting to the point where I think this must be rubbish. Although I get plenty of reads. Sorry for Kinda twisting your arm. So I sent Stan and Ollie as a Thank you. Thank you for commenting on my gibberish, Weefatfella. |
A Philadelphia Lawyer. (posted on: 01-10-12)  While the Scots are in Sheffield teaching the English how to make Stainless Steel.
' Never put a tack where a nails been.'A Philadelphia Lawyer. Big Wullie put his right hand out and moved his index finger rapidly up and down mimicking a bird's beak. This combined with a known grimace, directed me to move the forty-ton ladle a bawhair to the right. The pouring holes were only five inches wide. As the ladle emptied into the mould the centre of gravity was shifting. The weight of the wheel combined with both handles was drawing the pour holes away from the centre of the funnels. The weight of the wheel and stoppers caused the ladle to tip and only half of the forty-ton load of metal was in the mould. If the pour missed, the molten metal at 1600+ Centigrade would go wherever it cared to, with no way of stopping or containing it. The seven or eight suits floating round about the 'big-job', as it had been called all week didn't know this. If they did they wouldn't have been so unconcerned. I jagged the control to the right once, then as has to be done, again on the top swing, to maintain balance and to stop any shaking. Wee Francy, with the moving of the ladle could now be seen and for some reason he had the usual smile on his face. It took me a few seconds to work out why. The Big-Job was exactly that, and like all jobs over twenty-five tons. The big-job Wee Francy knew had been plated underneath. This was a safety measure with side effects. When the job was being filled, plated jobs always created a build up of gas. The bigger the job was, the more gas. With more gas trapped, the louder and more frightening the bang when it ignited. Ignition usually took place about halfway through the filling process, in fact about now. Jock Hyslop, the Foreman, standing quite a bit off replaced his earmuffs and assumed his normal stance at casting, arms folded and pipe full on. Wullie changed hands on the ladle and was nervously twitching his feet; I closed the window to keep any dust out when the gas did go off. Wee Francy was taking his eye off the job to appreciate the soon to open pantomime curtains. The vents from the bottom half of the mould had already ignited and were flaming away creating a false sense of bravado in the naive jacket, tie and trouser brigade. After seeing and surviving the vents they were emboldened and began to encroach again, when the gas went- BABANG! A few of them jumped straight legged up in the air (I'm sure one guy left his trousers behind) and while levitated their wee legs went like Catherine wheels and their faces contorted into grotesque demon like effigies. Their hands shot out in front of them. On landing they pushed each other out of the way to escape. It wasn't a case of women and children first these guys were all big girls blouses. Wullie and Francy were smiling in the midst of it all, pointing with their foreheads at the next escapade of the pinstripe fraternity. The dust settled, the blouses went away to tell of their great escape. We finished the pour and emptied the slag from the ladle. I took the empty vessel away and dropped it next to the tipper lorry to be emptied by Francy in the morning. I looked back down to the casting pits, Wee Francy was pretending to shovel the suit spoor from where they had been standing when the bang went off. Wullie was pointing to his right remembering another incident in the saga as they made their way to the howf. I cimbed down the ladder and joined them. Wee Francy clearly wasn't happy. ''Whit's wrang?'' ''Aw see that fanny'' he said, pointing to Wullie. The problem was the foundry we were in was not Armadale Foundry. It was the new English foundry. We had been here for two weeks teaching the English how to make stainless steel...in Sheffield. We were scheduled to work the weekend but Wullie had called it off. Francy wanted to work to get a bigger holiday pay for the break he had booked on his return. In Francy's mind Wullie had buggered that up. The upside was we had two days off and we would go for a much-deserved drink that night. It was a strange evening. Francy was refusing to drink, it turned out his hormone level had risen (he said) and he must have a woman that night or he would end it all. His Healthy wife was too far away and with the new shirt and trousers he had on he couldn't fail. We called a taxi and headed into the Crown Inn in town to start the three of us off. Near the end of the evening, Francy went missing. He had nipped out for cigarettes to the garage across the road from the pub. He was standing in the rain behind a big Sheffield lad who couldn't make up his mind what he wanted. ''Pot noodle please love, Yeah, riginal.'' The assistant would wander off and return with the asked for item. ''Eh, packet of roast beef sandwiches please luv.'' Off she would go again, she came back and proffered the sandwiches. The guy looked at them and shook his head saying, '' No love these aint got English mustid on im. It's the ones wiff mustid dear.'' Francy frustrated anyway,lost the plot. ''Haw you, ya big fuckin arsehole. Can yie no make up yir big stupit mind whit the fuck yie want. Then ask the wee lassie tae go and git it. Tae save me standin like a fucken eejit, in the pourin bastartin rain.'' The big Yorkshire lad was shocked; he had never met a guy so small with such a big mouth before. ''I'm gonna take your fuckin head off you old Jock Fuck wit.'' Francy went mental. ''Auld! Auld! Fucken auld is it? Listen ya big baldy prick. There's two minutes left in me and they're gonnie be the worst two fuckin minutes ae your fuckin life.'' Francy stepped to the right while palming the big guy's shoulder, which turned his body round, bringing his big Sheffield face in line with Francy's triple Glasgow kiss. The onslaught knocked the pot noodle and roast beef with mustard fancier out cold. Francy stepped over the body and attempted to leave the scene. He walked right into a police car and didn't get released till .3-00 am. He got a taxi home but had noticed the lights on in the Globe Pub across the road. After using the secret, chappity chap. The barmaid and owner the lovely Trudy allowed the wee-man in for more than a drink. She said goodbye to the locals but when Francy started to drink up she told him, ''it's alright dawlling stey a bitte longer, ave a drink wiv Trudy.'' Francy couldnt believe his luck. However, later on in the bedroom, Trudy was having second thoughts. As every suitor knows, if the lady doesn't lift the knee to facilitate the removal of her small garments the fair ride is over. No more fun can be had. For whatever reason, this was the predicament Francy found himself in. ''Aw cumoan Trudy babe yie cannae stoap noo Trudy Baby.'' ''Oh, Francy it's moy Charlie, e's at sea on that oil rigg workin his bolocks off. All to look after lil-old Trudy an I'm lyin ere wiv you, it's not fair is it love?' Francy turned into a Philadelphia lawyer. While maintaining momentum in the foreplay, he argued. ''Trudy, if yie go intae park yir caur in a parkin space and then change yir mind because it's too dear, well yie huv never parked in that space. Yie huv just stuck yir heid in. Thats aw A'll dae.'' ''You what love?'' ''I'll just stick the heid of it in Trudy, that's all, just the heid, I've never parked.'' ''Oh,Yeah, do you Promise Francy?' This as the knee bent and Francy restarted the merry-go-round. ''Och Aye, said Francy. I'll only put the heid in. I promise.'' He mounted the bouncy castle. The train went full steam ahead through the tunnel. There's an old expression used in Scotland. 'Never put a tack where a nail's been.' Francy compared to most men was a nail. He filled her completely and had no more to give. Trudy moaned. ''Oh Francy Darlin, put it all in.'' ''Naw. Naw.Naw,'' said Francy. ''A promise is a promise.'' Archived comments for A Philadelphia Lawyer. roger303 on 01-10-2012 A Philadelphia Lawyer. Crackin' as ever WFF. Not so sure what the Sheffield boys would say about the stainless steel though! Cheers Roger Author's Reply: Thanks Roger. Appreciate the Comment. Imaginations a great thing. Weefatfella. Andrea on 01-10-2012 A Philadelphia Lawyer. " Never put a tack where a nail has been." - hahaha, brilliant! Great yarn as usual... Author's Reply: Thanks very much for your comment Andrea. Yi'll be gittin yased tae the accent bye noo. Greatly Appreciated. Weefatfella. Mikeverdi on 02-10-2012 A Philadelphia Lawyer. Thought I would catch up on some other places on the site and came across this---- brilliant !!! Mike Author's Reply:
Thanks for your Kind comment Mike. Weefatfella. niece on 03-10-2012 A Philadelphia Lawyer. π ... Good one... Regds, niece Author's Reply:
Thank you for commenting Niece. Weefatfella. amman on 03-10-2012 A Philadelphia Lawyer. Nice one WFF. This is the stuff you are good at. Enjoyed. Cheers. Author's Reply: Thanks again amman. I enjoy these writes but Freedom won't let me go. Sometimes it's the story not how yie tell them. Weefatfella. expat on 07-10-2012 A Philadelphia Lawyer. Some great turns of phrase here and the dialogue colours your characters in better than a description. Is some of this based on your past? - it's got an authentic ring to it. Especially liked the bit about making the suits jump! A very enjoyable read. π Author's Reply: Thank you for your Kind comments expat. Greatly appreciated. Weefatfella Pronto on 19-02-2013 A Philadelphia Lawyer. I lioke it mate who among us have not 'worked away' from time to time? π Author's Reply:
Cheers Mate, thanks for reading and commenting. Weefatfella. |
New Freedom Chapter Five. (posted on: 01-10-12)  A warning to the Hebrews. ' This Land Is Taken.'Joshua and Michael rode up from the shore onto the plain of Sinai. The long trail of people determinedly followed the pillar of cloud now waiting at the foot of the great mountain dominating the horizon. As they cleared the dry Wadi Joshua spotted the warning sign. Two human heads now skulls, had been impaled on crossed spears standing proud of a weather beaten long hide shield, erected on top of a ten foot high well constructed pile of stones. The message placed here by whoever felt they owned this land was alarmingly clear to Joshua and Michael, the silent sentinel declared beyond doubt. ' This land is taken'. They rode closer to examine the structure. Michael dismounted and walked over to the base of the monument, he knelt down and lifted one of the stones before saying, ' It is well maintained some stones look to have been added recently. ' Michael replaced the stone and remounted Azania. Joshua slowly scanned all around, there was no sign of any enemies. The column headed purposefully towards the mountain. The land was dry and dusty and another cloud rising behind the Hebrews was making it very clear to anyone watching that a large force was traversing the Sinai plains. The Hebrews stopped near the base of the mountain and began to erect their homes and look after their livestock before lighting the cooking fires. In order to survive anywhere, the animals needed to have priority, they must be taken care of first. Joshua and Michael still concerned, carried on towards Shemuel and Kemuel who were half a mile away corralling the horses. As they approached, Kemuel riding a black mare rode up to meet them, ' Joshua, Michael, good to see you both, as you can see my father's cart is here, we have plenty of fodder for your animals, if you speak to Gemalli he will assist you. Oh,' he said smiling, ' your beautiful daughter Hanna is helping with the corral I will tell her you are here.' ' No. We wish to speak with all of you, if you don't mind please, this is important.' They made their way to Shiphtan's cart to feed the horses before gaining their assistance. As they approached a man was checking one of the draft horses hooves he waved saying, ' Hello I am Gemalli, I have feed here, bring the animals to the rear of the cart, dismount and I will check them over. ' 'How do you know so much about horses ?' Asked Joshua as he dismounted. ' I worked in the stables before we escaped the Egyptians, I was more than happy when I saw these animals had also gained their liberty. I have known these horses some of them, since I was a boy.' The others arrived. Joshua told them his concerns regarding the warning pile of stones. He spoke of the cloud of dust which would give away such a large movement of people and could be seen for miles. ' We are not ready for this. We are too vulnerable, any determined small force could devastate our ragtag host in a very short time.' Hanna, Joshua's eldest daughter stopped him by holding up her hand. ' Father you speak of a cloud of dust revealing our presence, we have followed a huge pillar of cloud for many weeks now and have survived. Not only that, but at night our location is emblazoned over the skies for all to see. I think you are right to fear for our safety but I believe we have been looked at by enemies and have been judged to be too many to attack at once. I agree though, any attacking enemy would with a close look determine our weakness. You are right we should put some plan into force for our assured future.' After discussion it was agreed they would corral the horses here and would leave a few men to look after the herd, the others would join up with the host and make Leathig and Aaron aware of their fears. They left together, Hannah looking small riding beside her Father and Michael's huge horses. She rode well for someone you would assume had never been near a horse, never mind being an accomplished rider. She had been a dancing girl in Ramese's court. Forced to dance for hours at a time, sometimes all day and most of the night, just to please visiting dignitaries to the Egyptian court. Ezrah the emissary from the northern city of Jericho was captivated by Hannah and had asked Rameses if he could have her. He was denied his request but was allowed to court her to sweeten any deals that the Pharaohs Diplomats might need to make, he had taken her hunting and riding, this was where she had found her seat. She also was very proficient with the Egyptian bow. This could be seen strapped to her back. She also strangely, had a full quiver of arrows on a belt round her hips. They reached the encampment in time to hear Aaron beginning to speak to the people. He was standing on a large flat rock with his staff raised. He began. ' People of the covenant, hear me. The lord our God has delivered us from the Egyptians. We have seen him smite the Egyptian horde who would have taken us back to Rameses and enslaved us and our children. We have been delivered. The Lord God of All has instructed us to build a city here at the foot of his holy mountain. Here he will protect us until we grow strong enough to look after ourselves. As he spoke the column of cloud dissipated and a strange white substance round and biscuit-like began to fall from the sky. When it came within reach the Israelites cupped their hands and opened their robes trapping the strange bounty. Some tasted it, those who did felt immediately invigorated and began to shout ' It is food from God, eat your fill and praise the almighty.' Aaron caught a piece and put it in his mouth the taste was bland but he could feel the goodness washing through his body 'a food from heaven indeed' he thought. Not only were the people eating this wondrous manna as it fell like snow, the animals were enjoying it too. The Hebrews were gathering the manna from the ground and the rocks, from wherever it was falling, they were storing the wafers into whatever vessel was available. The fall soon stopped and they cleared it from the ground, now and again looking up for more. Shiphtan guided the cart over to the rock and invited Aaron to board saying, ' this is like a ship in a sea of humanity, we can steer a path through the crowd to wherever you want to go with ease. Seeing Joshua and Michael with his niece Hannah, Aaron waved asking,' where are Leathig and Jacob ? I have lost them on the way here, there are too many people, I cannot see on this flat plain that is why I stood on the rock but as soon as I did the host came forward and I felt I had to comfort them.' ' Michael answered I am in touch with my brothers always there is a message from the Almighty.' We should meet with Leathig and Jacob at his tent. Leathig is getting Impatient, if you wish Aaron, I can transport you there immediately.' ' No I will go in Shiphtan's " Ship " it is early afternoon and I would enjoy the ride.' He stepped off the rock onto the cart and turned his eyes to the carter. Shiphtan was short and thin but wiry, he had sharp features but despite being middle-aged, he still retained his thick black hair, which he wore in a ponytail tied with a leather thong. The hair reached half way down his back. Aaron asked ' Why this huge cart?' Shiphtan, while holding the reins of his four massive horses in both hands, threw his head back laughing and replied ' I slaved in the distilleries of that bald skinny and bad-humoured Pharaoh for twenty years lord Aaron. I refined his oils and distilled his perfumes for his beautiful concubines and his many wives. The heat from the fires and the humidity from the steam in that place was insufferable. When I realised I might escape that 'Hell on Earth' and when Leathig asked me with my sons to reallocate the Pharaohs horses. Well, when I seen this beauty next to those huge draught horses, I decided right away that if we are delivered out of Rameses, I and my two boys would be traders and If we had this size of cart we could do an awful lot of trading. I went to the distillery and loaded all my stills and equipment on to this cart. Why not trade in perfumes and unguents ? I also wanted to get my alcohol still, my elixir is nearly just as I want it, a bit too strong but nearing the palate.' would you like to try Lord Aaron ?' Shiphtan lifted a ceramic amphora from it's hiding place somewhere near his feet, he pulled the leather bung out and handed the amphora out to him, Aaron sniffed the bottle, a sharp but not overly unpleasant odour swept up his nose, he drew back quickly screwing his face up. Shiphtan holding the bung in his hand said ' Take a drink just a small one, go on, ' he urged smiling, Aaron tipped the container to his mouth and took a mouthful, the liquid poured into his mouth, it had a sharp but clean taste, he swallowed. The hot bitter unfamiliar sensation caught his throat making him cough and splutter, he put his hand to his mouth and coughed again, in between the barking Shiphtan while laughing was slapping Aaron's back lightly, pretending to clear an obstruction. Aaron handed the bottle back wiping his lips and saying, ' let me know when you've perfected your elixir and I'll try it again.' 'I will,' said Shiphtan ' as he took a long swig of the elixer and while smiling at Aaron, he ran his tongue over his lips and smacked them loudly, before inserting the bung and storing the amphora back in its hiding place. Archived comments for New Freedom Chapter Five. Andrea on 01-10-2012 New Freedom Chapter Five. Mein Gott, WFF, you are prolific! Going to come back to this when less tired π Author's Reply:
No problem. Thanks for peering round the door. Weefatfella. amman on 03-10-2012 New Freedom Chapter Five. This fits in neatly between chapters 4 and 6. Interesting, full of detail but needs tidying up in parts. Keep truckin'. Cheers. Author's Reply:
Cheers amman. I'm no writer but I'm enjoying pretending to myself. I don't know how far this is going to go but I'm hanging on. Thank you for your encouragement, it's always appreciated. Weefatfella. |
| New Freedom Chapter Six (posted on: 28-09-12) The shape-shifter, Quilibet, captures Leathig on the sides of Mount Sinai. Shiphtan began to steer a path in between the scattered tents. Leathig and Chamuel appeared, flanked by Raphael and Uriel who were walking determinedly in their direction. Shiphtan stopped the cart, he climbed down and removed two sacks of grain, he began to attend to his mighty horses. ' At last you have come Aaron, the Lord has sent his messenger Gabriel, who has told me we have to attend the Creator on the mountain today. Leathig turned and pointed to the mountain now at his back and bemoaned, ' I don't see how we can possibly climb that edifice today, especially now that it is shrouded in cloud and by the time we make the ascent it will be get.... Raphael stood in front of Leathig saying ' have no fear Leathig we can transport you up the mountain in an instant; time is not the issue here,' Jacob interrupted, he took Leathig aside to examined him. ' Brother are you feeling sick I see something wrong. I'm not sure without a good look at you, but you certainly are not yourself , your eyes are opaque and sunken, your manner is irritable.' The priest turned his back on his brother declaring, ' We have no time for this nonsense, the Creator is waiting.' Leathig turned to Raphael, ' if you can do what you say, do it now please.and quickly.' The Angels invited the three men to the hidden side of the cart where they wouldn't be observed. Aaron looked to Sinai. The mountain was backlit by the coming twilight and was draped in a dark, ominous and thick churning cloud falling halfway down the sides, and becoming darker towards the peak. As he watched a double fork of lightning pierced the cloud, immediately, the thunder reverberated. Uriel was standing before him with his arms outstretched smiling, the Angel, concentrating, lowered his head, and when he lifted his head and his face met Aaron's, he was transformed. This was Urie as he was seen in Paradise. His whole body shone with a translucent alabasterine brilliance, he was taller, and more imposing, but exuded caring affection, his wings enclosed Aaron and all went quiet. They materialised on a narrow track beside the others, on the cloud covered mountain. Jacob was speaking quietly to Leathig who was shaking his head. When they reached hearing distance, they heard him say. ' At least let me try, I have been given amazing healing powers, I can do much more than before, It's just like an infection. You have been infected by evil, perhaps I can remove it ', he raised his staff. Raphael put his hand on Jacobs, pushing him away. ' You cannot take the risk Jacob, there is a chance The Evil-one may be able to pass his corruption from Leathig into you, Satan has corrupted Leathig through his staff, the staffs are symbiotic and can only be used by their owners. To anyone else the staff would only be like a shepherd's crook and with the same abilities.The Angel continued, ' when I took you under my wing for transportation, during the journey, I, with whoever is being transported, return to my own world, my own place in time, let us say Paradise, I couldn't reach there, the journey was terminated, and as we are all linked we aborted to the same place, this track. just a short way ahead through the mist the Creator awaits. Turning to Leathig he said, ' I'm sorry Leathig but you can't continue on to speak with the Lord, He knows of this as he knows all things, go back, return to your people we will attempt to find a solution for this. The High priest turned miserably away with his head bowed and trailing his corrupted staff behind him, he began the descent to the plains of Sinai and his people. Leathig, tiring, headed towards a flat rock below a thin willow tree to catch his breath. The evil coursing through him. He held his head and rubbed his forehead clearing the perspiration. A darkness covered him,feeling cold, he shivered. He lifted his gaze after hearing a soft exhalation of breath. Sitting calmly on a rock across from him, was a young man clothed in long flowing white robes. They seemed to ripple and shimmer like mist in moonlight, one second he was there, the next gone. Leathig cleared his eyes. The strange youth sat motionless, watching him with an ambiguous smile. His skin was pale, as though bloodless, his piercing eyes were the strangest ice blue. The white cowl of his robe framed his child-like face. The boy smiled, showing long sharp pointed teeth, the incisors two inches long and very sharp reached his lower gum. His long wet forked tongue snaked out, before quickly receding. Leathig was mesmerised, his confused eyes caught the flight of a white dove, it circled overhead, then flew to the young man, landing on his open left palm. The youth stroked it lazily with his thumb, all the while smiling and holding Leathig's eye's with his. He trapped the dove's thin neck between the finger and thumb of his right hand, and quickly, with a sharp crack and a cry from the bird, he snapped it's neck, then he lifted the bird to his mouth and with a crunch, bit it's head off. The birds blood poured out of his mouth staining the boys lips and mouth and running down his chin. The boy changed. He became larger. His skin darkened and became the colour of blood. His features became sharper and his once ice-blue mysterious eyes, became a sinister black. He spat the birds head towards Leathig, it bounced off his chest, the blood staining his robe. The priest jumped to his feet in alarm, the spell broken. Quilibet, instantly closed the distance between them, holding Leathig from behind so strongly he couldn't move, he was paralysed. Again that awful stench was all around him choking him, he couldn't find the air to breath, he couldn't move a muscle and mercifully with that terrible odour invading his lungs Leathig lost consciousness. Archived comments for New Freedom Chapter Six Texasgreg on 29-09-2012 New Freedom Chapter Six Aye! So the purity of the Dove's innocence and trust was betrayed by an evil that was alluring? That was the best part for me, but am still reading with hopes of being excited and appalled. Keep 'em comin', Paul! Greg π Author's Reply: Thank you for your kind comment Greg.
This piece has suffered from length of submission. The next piece if you remember is Demon's Lair Chapter Seven. This Chapter may not be so Angelic. Thanks again for your reading and more-so commenting. Weefatfella. (Duke). amman on 30-09-2012 New Freedom Chapter Six Hi WWF. I found the writing in this chapter to be tighter with some shorter sentences actually enhancing the flow. Still think you need to work on that aspect. The narrative certainly held my interest throughout. Plenty going on. Looking forward to the next chapter. What happened to chapter 5? Cheers. Author's Reply: Hi amman, Chapter 5 needs a complete re-write, I am doing that as we speak but I'm having great difficulty. As you know my forte seems to be the short humorous tale. I have one poking at me every time I sit down just now to do Freedom. I may have to give in. Thank you for your helpful comments. Weefatfella. |
| Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. (posted on: 24-09-12) Plenty ae reads forty wan bit nae comments. Yie throttle yir brain and yie whirlpool yir napper. Yie hope whit comes oot twill be sparkly and dapper. Yie batter it aw doon, tryin fur an interestin natter. Yie git nae response, seems yir prose disnae matter. Try harder tae be fancy, pit a worm oan fur bait. Try tae be mair funny, yie might no huvtae wait. Try everyhing an awhing furtae open that gate. Try tae be neutral and impartial, don't ever rate Yir maybe no smert enough fur this writin lark. Yir no fae a posh place wie a big fancy marque. Yir born near a foundry,the wrang side ae the track. Yir no wan tae be invited, yi've no gote the spark. Best it is jist tae leave it and jist haud tae yir task. Best jist tae be candid, tae jist come and jist ask. Best fur yirsell, furtae be nae pairt ae that masque. Best tae hawd yir wheesht and jist be the pasque Archived comments for Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. roger303 on 24-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. Yi've got the spark all right. Cleverly done! Author's Reply: cheers Roger Yie Try Yir Best, tha's aw yie can dae. Thanks for your gracious comment, it's the first time I've ever tried ' poetry ' Weefatfella. stormwolf on 24-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. he he Well done Weefats! π Some write both prose and poetry and some stick to what they feel they do better. Good on you for branching out and giving us a laugh. Alison x Author's Reply: I couldn't resist it. With no comments after forty one reads, I must confess I lost the plot just a tad. In defence of prose writers Alison. I was up the ladder and dropped my chamois, I had tae climb down and get it, I wrote the poem while getting my breath back before climbing back up. Thanks for the comments. Weefatfella. stormwolf on 24-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. Oh! I never saw that you had no reads....and after 41 reads! it's just demoralzing. I do not really understand people who read and dont have anything to say... To me, there are some who have incredible writing ability that can home right in on mistakes or places where a plot, say, can be tightened up. That is one of the main reasons I seldom read prose. However, I do think it can be very off-putting when we see many have read our work and nobody or few say anything. If we do read, comment and people do not take the time to reply, that puts me off reading someone again but you contribute widely ...anyway, keep a haud o yer chamois. Alison x Author's Reply: Sorry I took so long Alison, I really thought I had replied. Thank you for your sentiments and the windaes are done. x amman on 24-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. You write very fluently in this vein. A clever poem; yir plenty smert enough fur this writin' lark. Cheers Author's Reply: ValDohren on 24-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. Wonderful Weefatfella, very funny - taxed mae wee brain a bit, but got there in the end. Love it !! Best - Val Author's Reply:
Thank again Val for the comment sorry for the time Lapse. Weefatfella Andrea on 24-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. Very droll, WFF π As I said on the forums (re Storms' 'Twat' question), I'm not exactly sure how it works (you'd have to ask Sunks as he sorts that out for me - Twatter is quite beyond me!), but it seems to mean that some readers have been 'Tweeting' you, which sends your piece out to all 500 UKA Twitter followers (and they might well re-Tweet it), meaning you get many more reads and much more exposure (but obviously not that many comments). Wouldn't worry about it too much, tbh, at least you're getting read widely! So if YOU enjoy a piece hit that Twitter icon! Author's Reply: Are you saying people from here are putting my stuff on twitter? Oh My. strange. Andrea on 24-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. Well, it could be people from here, and it could also be people from the UKA Twitter followers who received the link to your piece through their own account. That's why we have a Twitter icon π Author's Reply: It's fine Andrea, Isn't that why we do it? Thanks for taking the time to help and explain. Weefatfella. Texasgreg on 25-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. Aye Duke! Ya got the spark and the smarts, just hold back them farts, lol. You're such a card, whether it be poem or prose.. Yes, some twit may tweet ya, but don't let it beat ya. This is my stopping-off point for tonight, but I assure you that I'll finish reading and reviewing everyone before too long. π Super! 
Greg π Author's Reply: Thanks Greg, always good tae git a salute fae yie. Keep-em Loaded. The long colt not the farts. Thanks fur the comment appreciated Duke Ionicus on 25-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. A good and incisive comment, Weefatfella, even though I to exercise my Italian brain to understand the Scottish brogue. I can sympathise with you regarding the lack of comments and it so much worse when you see other pieces getting plenty and you are still registering zero. It doesn't mean that your writing is worthless but I get so despondent that I delete my entries when that happens. Author's Reply: Grazie Luigi, sono stato veramente infastiditi da tutta la legge 41, con due osservazioni, che mi ha sconvolto. E 'stato allora che ho deciso di prendere la mia rivincita sui poeti. La poesia risultante era la mia risposta. grazie per aver trovato il tempo di commentare. Weefatfella. Yie acceleratore yir cervello e idromassaggio Yie yir napper. Yie speranza di Pentecoste viene twill oot essere frizzante e azzimato. Yie la pastella aw Doon, cercando di pelliccia un natter interestin. Risposta git Yie nae, sembra questione prosa yir disnae. Prova piΓΉ difficile tae essere di fantasia, un pit oan esca verme pelliccia. Prova tae essere Mair divertente, Yie potrebbero non huvtae aspettare. Prova everyhing un furtae awhing aprire quel cancello. Prova tae essere neutrale e imparziale, non mai tasso Yir forse no pelliccia smert abbastanza questo allodola writin. Yir non fae un posto di lusso wie un marchio grande fantasia. Yir nato vicino a una fonderia, il lato ae wrang pista. Yir non wan tae essere invitati, non yi've Gote la scintilla. Migliore Γ¨ jist tae lasciarlo e jist Haud tae compito yir. Miglior jist tae essere sincero, tae jist venire jist chiedere. Miglior pelliccia yirsell, furtae essere nae pairt ae che maschera. Miglior tae hawd yir wheesht e jist essere il pasque As you had difficulty deciphering the vernacular, I have taken the liberty of writing in your Mother tongue. I know you will be very aware that I have used Google Translator as the interpretations are notoriously awful. hope you had a giggle........Weefatfella. Weefatfella on 25-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. Just to make it easy for anyone (ME) to compare the two languages sorry three languages. thank you Grazie--Cheers---Thank you. Yie throttle yir brain and yie whirlpool yir napper. Yie hope whit comes oot twill be sparkly and dapper. Yie batter it aw doon, tryin fur an interestin natter. Yie git nae response, seems yir prose disnae matter. Try harder tae be fancy, pit a worm oan fur bait. Try tae be mair funny, yie might no huvtae wait. Try everyhing an awhing furtae open that gate. Try tae be neutral and impartial, don't ever rate Yir maybe no smert enough fur this writin lark. Yir no fae a posh place wie a big fancy marque. Yir born near a foundry,the wrang side ae the track. Yir no wan tae be invited, yi've no gote the spark. Best it is jist tae leave it and jist haud tae yir task. Best jist tae be candid, tae jist come and jist ask. Best fur yirsell, furtae be nae pairt ae that masque. Best tae hawd yir wheesht and jist be the pasque Author's Reply: Ionicus on 25-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. Hi Weefatfella, thanks for the effort you put to translate your comments into Italian but the trouble with the Google Translator is that for some words it offers multiple choices and you have to know the language to pick the right ones. I have translated the above into Italian and back into English. The result is not perfect as you can see but understandable: Weefatfella Hello, thank you for making the effort to translate your comments in Italian, but the problem with the Google translator is that for some words that offers more choices and you have to know the language to choose the right ones. Author's Reply: Grazie Luigi. Pelequin23 on 25-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. excellent poem very cleverly written π Author's Reply: Thank you very much pelequin23, Greatly appreciated Weefatfella. niece on 26-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. I'm hoping I understood this the right way...write for yourself, don't write to impress...the one truth all creative people should follow but most don't π ... good one, WFF... Regds, niece Author's Reply: I had submitted a rather long piece over 3000 words, Which received 41 hits with no comments so I went off on one. Sorry plenty of comments now though. Thank you again niece for your comment. Weefatfella. Texasgreg on 26-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. Aye! One last for posterity... Myself, I don't mind too much if people don't comment as the subject may not be their interest, but this is what bothers me: When I take the time to read their material and comment, I expect a response. If I see that they deliberately go around me to respond to others, I delete my comment and never read their material again. Not being rude or "getting even", just using the sense I have to avoid getting upset. Good job, my brother from another mother! Greg π Author's Reply: There yie go Greg. 15 comments tae this. Well the plan worked and I'm happy for it. I still love this Forum. I got a wee bit upset with the comment thing but as The' Moll ' rightly pointed out, it could be twitter.Thanks for showing your posterior at the beginning of your comment . I will refrain from such frivolities. Always good tae hear fae Yie Big-Man. Keep the High baws low. Weefatfella Mikeverdi on 28-09-2012 Sorry fur being a cheeky bugger. I have not read your Opus Magnum that prompted this one but I can appreciate the sentiment that brought it about. I am afraid it took me longer to decipher than it took you to write it! Plymouth westcountry accents are not the best. It was a great write and I much enjoyed reading it Author's Reply: 
Thank you for your kind sentiments. Although it was essentially a gripe, I have been pleased by the result, it did more than I intended. Albeit it's early bells I can see a recurrence. I don't really mind. My Great Work is more of a self indulgence. I'm enjoying playing with it (it keeps me busy) and it saves me using visual chewing gum. Thank you for taking the time to comment. Weefatfella. |
| The Raconteur. (posted on: 24-09-12) A story of one-upmanship from the Lanarkshire Steelworks. The Raconteur. I was operating my overhead crane ninety feet above the loading banks in the Lanarkshire Steelworks. Below me were five lines of Lorry Trailers waiting to be loaded with universal beams for the construction industry. I had started to lower the 25 tonne load of beams at the pre marked girder on the catwalk on the way down. The bay increased in depth evenly three times on the way down to the banks and some wily old crane-driver had taken the step of marking a yellow cross on the girder at that point. Lowering the load at full speed while passing the yellow cross would drop the beams to a perfect height over the lorries without staggering the load, giving the impression of a perfect and conscientious crane driver. An illusion. I would do it to give me time to roll a cigarette. The two slingers released the chains I set the controls to hoist and raised the chains from the trailer. As they were coming up I checked my watch, 9.20 am, I was day shift and the tea break was half past. I took the crane to the right hand side of the bay bringing me closer to the howf (Amenity, a clean environment health and safety orientated for workers to eat in,) but I would have to cross behind the rolling mill, a dangerous route as the red-hot beams came out at speed. I took this route many times as I gained an extra five minutes onto the twenty-minute break. I again escaped injury and after opening the outside door, I headed into the rain. A few auld-heids were already heading to the howf and as I was jogging in I passed auld Paddy. ''Hoi, young-yin, fill ma tinny fur me and I'll gie yie some ice cream, I've gote some in the oven fur yie.'' The tinnie's were all kept hanging on marked nails in a cupboard and auld Paddie's was near to mine, I filled the auld guys tinny saving him from having to queue. When he walked in I pointed to his tea-can, sitting full and steaming on the table. The auld fella waved and smiled as he drew his haversack of his shoulder and sat down to his piece. Piece time in the amenity was an experience. The patter of the old guys was amazing, full of banter about the football, the old firm, whatever was on the telly or in the news. Auld Paddy was a master of the patter. He, didn't only tell jokes, his forte was stories. He would tell amazing and enthralling tales of wonder. The guys had heard the stories a hundred times and never tired of them. When things went quiet someone was sure to say. ''Hey! Paddy! Tell us a story.'' Paddy always obliged with something. One day, the worst thing possible happened to Paddy. A new guy started in the banks. A plater from Greenock called Jimmy. The problem was, Jimmy told stories too and all Jimmy's stories were fresh and new tales from the famous Clyde Shipyards. When Paddy tried to talk somebody would say, ''Paddy, steady man, wheesht, there's a man trying tae talk here'. Auld Paddy wasn't happy at all but it didn't take the old guy long to get back on top. The old Gaberlunzie (Storyteller and licensed beggar) had thought long and hard over the weekend about how he was going to reinstate himself as the top raconteur. On the Monday at piece time the auld bugger made his gambit. When all the men had eaten their piece and were starting to fill their pipes and roll their fags. In that quiet two minute window. Paddy proved himself the master. He opened with, ''Got myself a water-bed at the week-end (he directed this straight at Jimmy) top of the range. Yie canny buy a better waterbed any where in the country.'' ''Yir a liar.''Countered Jimmy, ''How much did yie pay for it?'' ''Five hundred quid ' answered Paddy.'' ''Now I know yir a liar''said Jimmy, ''Cause I bought a Water-bed on Sunday and it cost me a thousand pounds, the salesman told me, there is no water-bed anywhere better than this wan. No waterbed anywhere else can even come close. This bed is top of the range and state of the art and don't let anybody tell you different.'' Paddy, the master, lifted his roll-up and drawing his moist tongue along the glue, offered, '' has yours got tropical fish?'' Archived comments for The Raconteur. niece on 24-09-2012 The Gaberlunzie. I know those types...can talk and talk and hate to be interrupted π ... but never seen two such people together...good story, WFF...your stories flow so well π Regds, niece Author's Reply: Thank you niece, it's actually nearly true. Strange thing is if Maggie hadn't closed the Steelworks, some guy would have been writing about Auld Weefatfella. Thanks for your Comments. niece. Appreciated. roger303 on 24-09-2012 The Gaberlunzie. Like Auld Curdy you have the patter! Once the wife interpreted it for me I thoroughly enjoyed it! Thanks again. Roger. Author's Reply: Cheers Roger. thank you for commenting. Weefatfella. amman on 24-09-2012 The Gaberlunzie. Ha ha, very funny. Thanks for the tour of the steelworks and the entertaining patter. Cheers. Author's Reply: Hi, amman The tour was to show the illusion, Curdy's whole thing was an illusion. Thanks for taking the time to read and comment greatly appreciate. 'Lang may yir lum reek.' Weefatfella. Texasgreg on 25-09-2012 The Raconteur. Aye! Had a one-up fer ya on that one, but too much of a gentleman to post it... Keep the funnies commin' Duke! .
Greg π Author's Reply: Thank you Greg. As you know your comments are very much appreciated. BTW, walked two hundred yards today, Ya belter, gettin there. The Sweetness hud a wee tear in her een. thanks again Tex. Duke. Andrea on 26-09-2012 The Raconteur. Hahaha, brilliant! Good ol' Curdy, eh? That'll learn 'im...young whippersnapper! Great tales you tell, WFF π Author's Reply: There is one running around right now but it's a wee bit risquΓ©, and ma lassies would maybe be disappointed in me. Maybe one day. I'm wrapped up in New freedom at the moment. Glad you enjoyed it. The polis cannae check yir tyre tread if you're going too fast can they ? (commas) hush. Thanks for your kind comment Andrea. Weefatfella. expat on 25-11-2012 The Raconteur. Great stuff, wff - how can anyone top Curdy's comeback! Another lively sub - have you got a story mine in your back garden. π Haven't seen you around for a couple of weeks - hope you're keeping OK. Steve Author's Reply: |
| The perfect answer. (posted on: 21-09-12) My Auld Da had become the victim of sectarian abuse. 
The Perfect Answer. Auld Joe opened the door of his pale green 1951 Austin A30 salloon. For some strange reason this model of car and it's corresponding van, only seemed to come in this rather sickly looking shade. The vehicle was the bottom of the range with no whistles or bells. It was very noisy while driving but it was reliable and replacement parts were cheap, easy to fit and could be obtained in the local coop or butchers. It was Friday morning the sun was shining and Joe was in a good mood. His wife Cathy my Auld Maw, had joyously informed him as they shared a wee dram the previous evening, that she was now carrying their fourth child, my wee brother, who would later be named Joseph after of course Auld Joe our Father. Auld Joe went through the ritual for starting these finicky wee machines. He pulled the choke halfway, depressed the accelerator once (if you depressed twice the bloody thing flooded) and turned the key. The 803 cm engine coughed into life, My Da lit a senior service cigarette and drove the two miles to Wishaw and McIvors Meat factory for another gruelling blood-filled 12- hour day of chopping the heads off of pigs and boning out the meat. As if this wasn't enough to contend with, there was Billy McGovern. McGovern was a typical west of Scotland sectarian bigoted bastard. He had a very small brain balanced with a huge arse and an even bigger mouth. It wouldn't matter what side he was born into, Blue or green, he would act accordingly, berating and ridiculing the opposite faction, believing it to be his God given right, a god whose house he never visited, except for funerals or weddings. These animals throw abuse at people all day and pretend it's banter or good-natured fun; it is in fact the opposite. My Father picked another pigs head from the box and made the first cut from the centre of the forehead straight down to the pigs nose, he said to anybody who might be listening. ''Aye A gote a wee bit ae guid news last night, the wife Cathy is expecting again, I'm fair chuffed, the more the merrier.'' The bigot McGovern, Piped up with. ''Fur fuck sake Joe how many brats huv yie gote noo then?'' ''Well wie this wan that'll be four why Billy?'' ''You papes want tae behave yirsells, are yiz trying tae take over the world? I know the Big Man (God) said multiply and fill the world but you Catholics are trying tae dae it oan yir own, Can Yie no wear a condom? Aw naw yie cannae. The auld Pope said yies huvnae tae use contravention, so yie cannae use a french letter. Tell yie whit, jist pull it ower yir wumans heid and tell her tae blaw intae it and that'll pit yie aff her, eh, big Johnnie-heid running aboot.'' He looked around to see the effect his superior wit had with his audience, some men were laughing some just looked embarrassed. Auld Joe rose above and said ''I like weans and if a weans gonnae come it's no ma place tae stoap it. Me and Cathy are happy about it and by the way McGovern, I'll huv as many weans as I and my wife see fit and anyway, am I not right in saying that you and yir wife don't have any children, as yet?'' Mcgovern lowered his head and quietly said ''Wilma disnae want any kids,she says they're noisy and expensive and they're mair bother than they're worth.'' ''So is that your way of saying that yir baws don't work, eh Billy, so you're no jist an orange-man yir a jaffa.'' This type of conversation was typical of the meat factory. My father took the first opportunity he got and left the factory to work at Ravenscraig steel works. He was happier even though it was continental shifts and he had to often work the weekends. During this time my father's friend Bill Donnelly who had a butcher shop in Motherwell, had been informed by the District Council his business would be compulsory purchased to make way for the new one-way system and pedestrian precinct which was planned for the town centre. The compensation would reflect the shop turnover so Bill asked my Dads advice. Auld Joe came up with a mutually advantageous plan. They would buy carcasses from the abattoir, butcher them in Bill's shop, and vacuum pack them into meat parcels, which Auld Joe would sell from a van at the Ravenscraig gates.They would share fifty fifty after tax and all would be legit, with the proceeds going through the shops till. This would result in the shop showing a higher turnover and the compensation would be raised reflecting the profit. They made a veritable fortune. They couldn't keep up with the demand. They made money hand over fist. My auld Da splashed out on a brand new 1959 mk 2 Ford Zodiac. The car was stunning. Red, with a broad white go faster stripe down each side. It sported white walled tyres and had flashy chrome trimmed visor over the windscreen. A beauty, it had three forward gears, a plastic or Bakelite handle moved between three highly polished chrome circles below the steering wheel to change the gears. I bloody loved it and so did auld Joe. He would take the opporchancity to drive it, just to do that and show off. With his shirt sleeves rolled up, the window down and with obligatory senior service burning away in his hand, he would cruise around looking in shop windows to admire himself and his wonderful machine while passing. He was out showing off one summers day, of course he had the window rolled down and had stopped at the traffic lights at Motherwell Cross. He was sitting In the middle lane, waiting to go straight ahead. ''Is that you Joe?'' He heard from the beat up old van sitting to his left with the faded advert of McIvors Meat on the side. Auld Joe, looked to the driver, it was Billy McGovern. ''Oh Hi Billy. How are Yie?'' ''Aye fine Joe, Yirsell?'' ''Och Aye Billy I'm enjoyin the weather, it's a fine day fur a wee drive, dae yie not think so?'' ''Och aye Joe. That's a lovely car yir drivin, is it yours?'' '' Of course it's ma car Billy, I don't run aboot stealin cars yie know'' ''Where did yie git the money tae buy a car like that fae? Did yie rob the chapel?'' '' Naw naw Billy, me and Cathy hud anither four weans. Family Allowances paid fur this.'' The lights changed and my father and the zodiac rode off into the sunset. 
Archived comments for The perfect answer. roger303 on 21-09-2012 The perfect answer. The old Austin brought back memories of driving my dads A35 around some wasteground, when I was a kid. Was never keen on the Zepher or Zodiak, "Dagenham dustbins" as dad would describe them. Enjoyed it very much. Thanks. Regards, Roger Author's Reply: Thanks Roger, though I must say the quality in those old cars was way above the trash we drive today, what with the lying computer purely designed to bring you in to the franchise garage so they can slip the plug in, delete the light and charge you Β£100 smackeroonies. Incidentally next time you're in the garage look at the mechanics, no sorry Technicians. No grey hair, the garages won't pay the wages. The experienced mechanics all work in back street garages belying the adage. I have always found the back street garage if you are careful and go by word of mouth, to be a better service and much much cheaper, just a thought. Thanks for your comments. appreciated. Weefatfella. Andrea on 22-09-2012 The perfect answer. Well, you did ask for critique, so here's one of your paragraphs: Auld Joe went through the ritual for starting these finicky wee machines. He pulled the choke halfway, depressed the accelerator once only, if you depressed twice the bloody thing flooded, and turned the key. The 803 cm engine coughed into life, My Da lit a senior service cigarette and drove the 2 miles to Wishaw and McIvors Meat factory for another grueling blood filled 12 hour day of chopping the heads off of pigs and boning out the meat. and my version: Auld Joe went through the ritual needed to start these finicky wee machines. He pulled the choke halfway and depressed the accelerator once only (if you depressed twice, the bloody thing flooded) and turned the key. The 803cm engine coughed into life. My Da lit a Senior Service cigarette and drove the two miles to Wishaw and McIvors Meat factory for another gruelling blood-filled 12- hour day of chopping the heads off pigs and boning the meat. Honestly, I'm only trying to help and I do love your story-telling ability. Such a shame if people 'switched off' due to difficulties deciphering π I remember those cars, too. And yes, always a vile puke-green colour. Mind you, I remember when all cars were black (pre-dinosaur times) Author's Reply: Thank you Andrea I have adjusted as instructed. I also can see what you mean. I do learn quickly. Thank You for your Help, I'm getting there. Honest, your critique is not just appreciated, It's required. Weefatfella. Texasgreg on 23-09-2012 The perfect answer. 
Aye! It may not sound like it, but really it's true. Personally, I'm a peaceful guy, but sometimes a punch in the face just feels like the right thing to do. π Super Job, Duke! Greg π Author's Reply: You come to accept the stupidity of it all. The bigots in Scotland have no Idea at all of the history behind it. (IMO, the Stewarts buggered it all up). I told An SNP supporter who is also sectarian ? of the blue faction, ' If Scotland votes for Independence you will lose your beloved Union Jack' ' Why?' He said. Unbelievable you couldn't make it up. The other side are just as bloody stupid. Thanks again for your insightful comments Ali.- Greg. The Duke. |
| New Freedom Chapter Four. (posted on: 21-09-12) Coming fast behind were the Egyptians , mounted on their chariots, racing over the smooth floor getting closer, some although out of range were excitedly but fruitlessly firing their arrows. The Pharaoh himself in the spearhead. His face contorted, his armoured fist raised, holding a javelin in anticipation of exacting his revenge on the hapless Hebrews whom he thought he had now at his mercy. As they neared the foot of the mountain, they could see the camp of their people. The smoking cooking fires were scattered all over, twinkling like the reflections from a sparkling jewel, glinting in between the myriad of tents and carts as far as the eye could see. The smell of meat roasting and the sound of people talking and singing and the strangely comforting sound of flutes and whistles mingling with the wash of the Red Sea surf, belied the feelings of the Angels and men as they looked out to sea. The Pillar of fire showing the way was standing aflame in the middle of the sea, adamantly and indefatigably pointing the way to the triangular peak of mount Sinai,stolidly silhouetted against the setting sun. They looked for and easily found Shiphtan's Large cart ,Joshua placed the stone on the edge just inside and Jacob climbed up into the cart, covering the stone with his cloak and taking a large empty amphora from behind him, he passed it to Joshua and asked him to place it on the ground behind the cart. He struck the stone and the clear blue water flowed freely and quickly into the large receptacle. Joshua began to call,' Water, come quickly come here for water '. The people came carrying all types of containers a long queue quickly began to form. Jacob and Joshua were prepared to stand all night with the Angels who were being given inquisitive looks by some of the Hebrews, because of their strange Armour or maybe by their foreign appearance but most of the people were only interested in filling their water skins and flasks. Michael seeing the men were tiring said ' Go you two and rest, my brothers and I have no need of sleep, we will deliver the water to your people while you rest and when they have had their fill, I will come for you Jacob to strike the stone.' The two took the advice and made their way between the tents and fires to their respective families to spend the night. Aaron eventually found his old horse chewing happily away at some straw that had been left on the back of his cart. His tent had been erected and when he looked inside Elisabed was stirring a stew pot with a wooden spoon, the spicy aroma pervaded the air in the confined space. He pulled the tent-flaps back and stepped in. She spun around and stood up, still holding the stirring spoon which was dripping with gravy. ' At last the wanderer has returned. Aaron, before you go disappearing with Leathig and Jacob would you please take care of your horse and erect your tent. My sisters and I have helped you tonight but please... ' Aaron raised his hands silencing her.' Elisabed I apologise but Leathig wouldn't wait and after all it wasn't just anybody I was going to meet was it? They both smiled nervously before she asked ' have you had supper Aaron?'' I'm not hungry' he replied, ' Let's go outside and walk, I have a lot on my mind and could do with the company'. Elisabed placed the spoon in the pot, she took the pot off of the fire and placed it on the dirt floor,before they both stepped outside. As they walked, Elisabed linked her arm through Aaron's, when she did this he turned to her and they both looked lingeringly into each others eyes. She rested her head on Aaron's shoulder as they threaded their way past the large queue of people filling their water carriers and continued together to the beach. The surfs silver rolling edge caressed and washed the shoreline with a soft hush. Many of the people could be seen swimming or wading in the cool calm sea. The water for some way out was shallow. Aaron leaving Elisabed close to the beach, waded out in fruitless hope that it might be shallow all the way across but it quickly began to get deeper and the waves were beginning to rise the further out he went, very quickly he had to return to shore. He turned his back on the insistent pillar of fire and when he reached Elisabed he took her hand in his, he sighed saying,' lets go back, I'll deal with this in the morning ' . They walked back in silence old Cyrus the horse nodded his head and snickered in acknowledgement as they approached, Aaron reached in to the sack in the cart and gave a dry looking apple to Elisabed, she inspected the fruit and and after brushing it off on the palm of her hand she offered it to the old horse, he chewed it quickly and Aaron, while rubbing Cyrus's nose, said ' thank you Elisabed for your company this evening and for preparing the meal.' Elisabed yawning replied ' your welcome Aaron we have a tiring day tomorrow it seems, I will need my sleep. Goodnight Aaron,' she kissed him chastely on the cheek and walked the short distance to her family tent. Aaron brushed his hand along old Cyrus's long nose and a few seconds later retired to his tent. He lay down and slept fitfully on his pallet till dawn. He was shaken awake by the Angel Uriel. ' We have to make a start Aaron, the Egyptian army is nearing and can't be far away, Rameses is force marching and coming upon us fast. We need to rouse the people and you have work to do.' ' Oh yes Uriel I only have to turn the sea into a huge flat rock and allow my people to run across it.....' . Uriel held both his hands up and shaking his head he put his hands on Aaron's shoulders, immediately Aaron was calmed, he nodded his head and apologised to the Angel, ' I do have faith, and this duty will be done, let's go and see what can be accomplished.' They both quickly broke down the tent and stowed it in the cart. They hitched the horse to the cart but they couldn't move, the way was blocked with people standing around or sitting in their heavily loaded carts. Men were shouting for Leathig and Jacob to tell them what to do. The column of cloud could be seen out on the sea dispassionately waiting. Leathig appeared suddenly through the crowd with the three Angels, people were calling his name and tugging at his robes looking for answers, he placated them as best he could and the Angels diplomatically held the crowd back. He spoke, ' Aaron we have to go now. Come, we can look at the situation and see what can be done but We have to be doing that now, Rameses will be here sooner than we think. ' With the Angels protecting them both, they made their way through the host to the sea shore. Shemuel and Kemuel, Shiphtan's sons, along with Hannah, Joshua's daughter, and several mounted men they had recruited, had been herding the two hundred horses and now were holding them on the beach. The animals were corralled behind an easily constructed but effective enclosure of loosely sunken wooden posts linked by drooping rope which could be raised and reset releasing or containing the herd quickly Their father was checking the trappings on the four dray horses harnessed to the huge four wheeled cart. Jacob who was helping him, waved and began to walk towards them. ' Good morning ' he said greeting both men at once, ' Are you able to make a pathway? As Leathig said. ' he asked Aaron. ' I Shall try Jacob but the people will be afraid to cross and I can only imagine how excitable those horses will be once the sea lifts, if Indeed I can move it at all. Michael and the Angels appeared. ' Don't worry about the horses we will ride the lead mares and alpha stallions across the others will follow while we instil calming and pacifying thoughts in all their heads. They will cross passively and with the people of the host seeing this, it may have a reciprocating and positive effect on them and we all may make a quick journey with minimal difficulty. Joshua looking very much the warrior rode up on one of the large draft horses with the other trailing behind on a halter. Michael acknowledged him and pointing to his mount asked Joshua. ; May I, Joshua nodded his head acquiescently. Michael took the horses head between both his hands and whispered very quietly into the massive horses ear. He massaged both of it's long pointed ears between his fingers and thumb while he crooned soft melodic words in a strange language. He rubbed his cheeks softly along the side of the horses head. Joshua could feel the animal relax significantly below him, he patted the animals neck and asked the Angel to perform the same effect on the other horse, this he did. Afterwards Joshua asked Michael, ' I have been given these wonderful beasts by Shiphtan, he thinks I am too big and heavy with my armour for a normal horse, I wish to make a gift to you of Azania, will you accept ? I am riding Abaddon his brother. If you wish Michael, you can have either ?' Michael smiled warmly saying ' I thank you Joshua, Azania, would be too large an animal for me to ride in normal circumstances but as your riding companion and counsellor I must accept your gracious offer Joshua, because to accompany you on a lesser animal would be folly indeed.' They both shook hands on the deal laughing as they did. Michael asked Joshua ' what are your plans during the crossing ? ' ' I will be at the rear to protect our people and make sure no one is too afraid to go on, if it appears that is the case, I will encourage them to go forward. Aaron and Leathig stared impotently at the sea for a few minutes before Aaron had an inspiration. He slipped his staff from it's sheath on his back and purposefully pointed it at the ground. The blue crystal came to life, glowing and pulsating with a deep blue light. Aaron next focused the staff at the sand close to the shore. The ground began to shake and shudder when he raised both arms. The earth slowly began to rise, the sand and shingle slipped noisily away revealing hard grey bedrock. A ramp began to form, growing noisily, with a long low rumbling groan. The rock complained as it grated on itself and began to push up in a long shallow gradient with the sea lapping at the base.The incline reaching twenty feet in hight, with a short flat platform at the top. Leathig and the Israelites stood quietly, in awe, as Aaron calmly crossed fifty feet to his left and began the amazing process again. This time making a ramp and platform for Leathig. He silently returned and climbed to the platform he had created for himself, accompanied by Uriel who stood behind in support. Aaron raised his glowing staff above the waters. He looked across the gap to Leathig. Then turning towards the water he confidently drew on the power of the staff creating the conduit to the Creator. The Power flowed from the staff positively, gaining more power than he thought possible. The staff held it easily, He reached with his mind for Leathig and he could feel the high priest's fear. ' I am with you Leathig don't be afraid we can do this'. He raised his left arm in Leathig's direction, a deep glowing azure wave of light crossed the gap and into the crystal in Leathig's staff, intensifying and invigorating both. Leathig's confidence soared. Aaron used the high priests staff as an extension of his own. He instructed him through their link to begin to fold the sea back to the left before clearing the sea bed to enable the thehost to pass freely and easily. With both staffs raised, Aaron concentrated on his knowledge of the consistency and weight of sea water and the way it bucked and rolled. The sea was resisting him, he drew more power and thought deeper thinking and remembering. The sea began to roll back, as it moved he could feel the enormous weight of it, like a living thing it pushed back again and he thought, this is the nature of water, it flows and ebbs. He began to work with the ' beast' when the water moved to the right he aided it, when moving left he resisted. He passed this revelation on to Leathig. The task became suddenly achievable. The sea began to lift and the liquid walls began to rise steadily and uniformly on both sides. A wet uneven path with deep troughs and rising hillocks began to appear between the huge undulating walls. Aaron concentrated now on the rough sea bed, he scanned all the way along and smoothed the sea floor to enable the people to pass. The seas parted and held all the way to the opposite shore opening the way to the pillar of cloud standing doggedly waiting. The noise was deafening. The water was complaining loudly and pushing against it's captors, fighting hard but the two men aided with their staffs grimly held on. They could see Jacob standing on the cart staff in hand compelling the people to follow. The four Angels riding on the lead horses began to steadily walk forward into the corridor the herd of horses strangely and calmly followed. The Hebrews now under Jacobs light compulsion began to enter. The noise of the water being held back was astounding. The sea being impossibly contained by the two men on the ramps, was rolling and beating against the restraining force. Washing over the roofless sides, spilling on those below and threatening to burst forth, drowning everybody. The Hebrews looked frightened and ready to panic. The long ungainly column of the host, a mixture of carts and domestic animals with their owners who, only a few short weeks ago were slaves, stoically persevered. The Hebrews were determined they helped and encouraged each other, and acting as one massive but confident entity, they pooled their resources of courage and strength and with dignity they endured the passage and soon were climbing the hill at the opposite shore more than seven miles away. Joshua, mounted on his huge horse and trailing the other behind, entered the huge incomprehensible hallway with the last of the Hebrews. Leathig and Aaron holding their staffs high maintaining the impossible corridor, walked onto the flattened sea bed. Holding the sea walls up all the way. After walking the length of the impossible passageway, they reached the other side. The Angels with Joshua had kept the column moving, following the pillar of cloud onto the plains of Sinai. Aaron and Leathig turned to close the gap in the sea. Coming fast and bearing down hard, were the Egyptians , mounted on their chariots, racing over the smooth floor getting closer, some although out of range were excitedly but fruitlessly firing their arrows The Pharaoh himself in the spearhead. His face contorted. His armoured fist raised, holding a javelin in anticipation of exacting his revenge on the hapless Israelites whom he thought he had now at his mercy. The two men climbed higher up the seashore, when they reached the top and looked into the gap the Egyptians were nearly halfway across. Rameses with hundreds of chariots and riders with the horses lathered and out of breath were still bearing down. Aaron faltered, he could feel the weight of the sea threatening break from his grip.' Hold', he begged Leathig through the link. We have to hold, they will kill us all if they get across. We are defenceless against them, we have no army. The desperate situation called for no other outcome. We have to hold the walls as long as we can Leathig, once we have the Egyptians trapped within the corridor, we will release the force from this end, drowning them all. Leathig acknowledged saying ' May the power of the Creator fortify us and help us to endure.' Powerful angry white horses reared noisily at the gap, attempting in vain to jump the gap between the two walls. Frothing and pulling against the containing force, Aaron and Leathig held on. The surf strained and pulled. Huge flutes of white water spun and rose higher and higher building up momentum, threatening to burst forth onto the sea bed. Still the two men held and when all the Egyptians were encompassed between the soaring sea walls, Aaron quietly sent 'release.' As one they let the power go, the walls fell. The sea crashed on top of the Egyptians smashing them with the weight of tons of water, whirl-pooling and rolling into deep pits tumbling back up to the previous height and crashing down again and again, pulverizing and drowning every one of the Egyptians, men and horses alike, none were spared. The two men in silence looked on, the sea very quickly became smooth again with light waves rolling and bobbing on the calming, rolling, surface. Leathig spotted, an Egyptian shield, three feet wide, round and studded in bronze, being forced ashore and washing on the beach, the only evidence of the army of Rameses ever having been there. It was now very quiet with a cool steady calming breeze. It was hard to believe what had just happened. He descended the hill and began to walk back towards the sea to retrieve the shield. Aaron joined him, he wanted to say something, but with the deaths of hundreds of men and animals on his mind no words came, he could see Leathig felt the same. The two men walked towards the sea and the ominous shield now bobbing back and forth being washed by the waves. Aaron bent to pick up the targe and a loud scream filled the air, he turned to see Leathig levitating off the ground, his back arched at an impossible angle as though someone or something was attempting to snap him in two. His face was contorted in agony he was screaming in pain. A rotting and stinking aroma had filled the air, a smell of sulphur and wrongness, a putrid stench, choking and filling Aaron's stomach. The atmosphere was heavy and forced him to the sand, his stomach filled with bile,'what was causing this?' He turned to the sea, a skull like effigy had formed above the water and a horrible blood red fist ,had Leathig in it's grip, squeezing the life from him, shaking him and if not stopped would soon kill him. Aaron raised his staff, immediately a clear sharp light streamed towards the skull, easily pushing through it's defences and breaking the strength of it, depleting and dissolving it, turning the thing into the sea melting and breaking it's hold. As it began to melt into the sea a long thin pole came out of the water spinning end to end, when it bounced on landing on the beach they were amazed to see it was Leathig's staff minus its blue orb. Leathig dropped to all fours on the sand gasping. The miasma began to clear and soon the air was sweet again. The four Angels too late now, came running down the hillside. They helped the priest to his feet, ' How are you Leathig ?' Chamuel asked, Leathig nodded and gasping for air, began to gather himself, ' In the name of all that is holy ' he breathed, 'I thought my life was over right here, that was disgusting. I don't know what it was, but let's leave here now before it returns.' He reached for his staff lying in the sand, he picked it up but dropped it quickly to the ground, as if it had burned him. It feels different it feels wrong.' Then he realised. 'The orb, the orb from my staff has gone.' He began to search, dropping back to all fours scraping back the sand in desperate panic. Chamuel knelt down beside the priest, he placed his hand on the priests shoulder, saying, 'Leathig, if the orb was here I and my brothers would sense it's presence. The orb has been taken Leathig, come, we have to leave this place. Leathig's mutilated staff lay with a corrupting and unhealthy red taint seeping into it. Unknown to even the Angels. The taint was being transferred through the symbiotic link to Leathig. Archived comments for New Freedom Chapter Four. Texasgreg on 23-09-2012 New Freedom Chapter Three. Hehe, can just hear ya tellin' Adam the story by a campfire, (with a pot of stew, of course). Best leave out the green skull. I lernt that lesson with my son when he was young. Had ta run monsters outta his closet before he went to bed. π Keep 'em commin', Duke! Greg π Author's Reply: Weefatfella writes: Thanks for the Comment Greg. I appreciate the piece is exceptionally long but 41 reads and only one comment. Are they just skimming ?. Perhaps they don't want prose here. Sorry to sound so petulant. Thank You anyway Greg.....Again. amman on 23-09-2012 New Freedom Chapter Three. Hello WFF. This definitely deserves more reads and comments but, perhaps, would be more digestible if posted in two parts. It seems to be that readers are more inclined towards poetry than prose, as I too have discovered, but we are what we are and write accordingly. Anyway, I've gone back and read the previous 2 chapters and like the continuity and flow of your narrative. Thought the 1st chapter and to some degree the 2nd were much tighter (I think you mentioned that the 1st has been amended). Some language redundancies which will no doubt be sorted in the editing process. Also, a few sentences need shortening. However, your characterisation is excellent and overall an interesting and readable take on the biblical story. Look forward to further episodes. Cheers. Author's Reply: Thank you very much indeed amman for taking the time to comment on my very long piece, your insightful commentary will be acted upon. I have only been writing since Jan this year and my confidence is low. Texasgreg keeps buoying me up and I am very grateful to him for that. I need critique to move forward. Thank you again. Weefatfella. Texasgreg on 23-09-2012 New Freedom Chapter Three. Aye! Can only reiterate Tony's statements and add that all subjects aren't to the taste of others. I too have felt the sting of silence. In cases such as those, I merely determine that I must re-present in a fashion more enjoyable to a general audience without losing my meaning. Don't think that's the case here though. It's a really cool take on biblical history, IMO. I think more editing before release and smaller chunks would be the key. Just my opinion...personally, I'd read anyway, but would be helpful for me. I do really like your style and stories... Greg π  Author's Reply: Cheers Greg. Yo always have the knack of saying the right thing. |
| New Freedom Chapter Three. (posted on: 17-09-12) A History of the Scottish Nation. The large cart rumbled and bucked along the dried river bed leading from the east gate. The low, hard and grey small hills, interspersed with copses of stunted sycamore and mulberry bushes, broke the horizon. The ground was hard and pitted but the going was flat and seemed to continue like that for miles, better for the carts and horses than rolling sand and the people made good progress. They were heading towards a triangular peak clearing the horizon to the south west, Mount Etham. The overhanging cloud kept the air cool, and this turned after dark to a soaring miraculous pillar of fire, lighting the way and giving off heat, in the cool desert night-air. Leathig left the cart, and mounted on a black stallion, he rode the length of the slowly moving column. The people looked tired and some called to him as he passed, asking for rest and water. He closed his ears and continued on towards the roaring pillar of fire. He reached Joshua, who was riding behind the pillar keeping his distance and sometimes staring up in disbelief at the power of the creator, to sustain such a wondrous thing. Leathig had to shout over the roar of the flames to be heard, ' Keep up the pace Joshua I want to put as much distance between us and the Egyptian army as possible, If we are caught here we stand no chance and will soon find ourselves back in Rameses making bricks'. They continued for forty days and nights without rest and finding themselves short of water, the people began to bicker at the pace and to complain of thirst. At the foot of mount Etham, on the shores of the Red Sea ,Leathig halted the host and instructed them to make camp with their backs to the mountain. Leathig called for Joshua, Arron and Jacob to accompany him onto the mountain. 'The lord has asked to meet with us on this mountain I don't know why, but when he calls we must attend.' The four men began to climb a narrow well used goat track up the steep incline, the ground was hard but the gradient, although steep, didn't seem too difficult. They climbed in silence until they came to a small wooded glade with green grass framing a small lake and with an island in the middle. A large white tent could be seen erected in the middle of the island. Two Angels dressed in very white robes, guarded the entrance. A highly polished wooden bridge led across to the island and an Angel called Gabriel dressed in white robes accompanied the four into the tent. Inside was a long wooden table set for a banquet. The Hebrews had never seen such extravagance. There were foods here they had never seen. There were fruits of all colours and sizes, meats and vegetables, wines and ales from every country that is, and as they found out later, ever was and was ever going to be ,in this place time didn't exist. The Angel invited the men to sit, as they did the Creator appeared on the middle and most ornate chair. He was dressed in white and was wearing a magnificent flowing beard, his long white hair reaching to his shoulders shone with health, he was smiling. Leathig was invited to sit on his right, the place of honour. Aaron was to sit to the left of the Creator beside Joshua, who had a strange moonstruck look on his face. To the right of Leathig sat Jacob. The other places across the table were taken up by eight Angels, they were Michael. Uriel, Gabriel the messenger,Chamuel, Raphael,Raguel, Raziel and Camael they were here as a show of strength to the Hebrews, to make the coming revelations possibly easier and to give the men strength of purpose knowing they would have help in their future endeavors. When all were seated the Creator opened his hands to indicate to begin. Aaron ate a piece of meat, as it entered his mouth the flavour washed over his tongue and he could feel energy rushing through him, his eyes opened in surprise. The angel Uriel spoke to him, I am Uriel and the Lord has asked me to be your attendant and adviser in the coming trials against the dark one, I will guide and protect you if I can from all harm. These meats and fruits are from the Garden of Eden and are the first of their kind. Their flavours and energy giving nutrients have never been diluted, that is why their goodness can be felt so strongly. As he said this all at the table nodded in agreement and continued to eat with gusto. Another Angel spoke looking over to Joshua, Michael the Archangel introduced himself, he reached over and touched Joshua's hand. I am Michael I am instructed to assist you and teach you the way of the warrior, I have weapons and armour which You will be given and I will instruct you in their use, you will need these skills in the coming conflict. never fear I will be with you at all times. The Angel Chamuel sitting across from Leathig spoke to the high priest I am Chamuel, I have been instructed to assist you Leathig, for you have the greatest of all sacrifices to make. I will comfort and succour you in your trials for the greater good, do not fear, this is as it must be and we will triumph in the end. The Lord will tell you of this later. Hold to your faith Leathig, for you are beloved of God. Leathig looked to the creator and He stood and Invited him to follow. They all three went outside. The Creator walked toward Leathig and put his arms around him and rested his head against his, he kissed Leathig's cheek and said into his ear, ' the rules are set in place Leathig, I am bound to the same rules and parameters of this universe. Where there is good there must be evil, all things need to be balanced, where there is order there is chaos. I am the creator of all things, I have set the rules and what I have set in place I cannot and will not change. The consequences would be catastrophic. I have seen in the future that the Lord of Chaos and darkness, the Lord of Evil, has set his hand against you, you have thwarted his plans by bringing your people out of bondage and his evil eye is upon you Leathig. His plans are set and I cannot stop him. I can however try to make it bearable for you, with preparation and help from my angel of succour and love Chamuel. I will prepare and strengthen you against his attacks. Enter the life giving waters here and we will begin. Leathig stepped into the water, the Creator held him by the shoulders and pushed him below the surface. The water felt warm and he could feel the energy flowing through him. His staff began to glow with a stronger and clearer deep blue glow. His body began to feel stronger and more youthful and the words of the creator could be heard clearly advising him that he was loved and cared for and that the trials to come would eventually end and he would have his place in the kingdom of the Lord forever. He came to believe the trial was as the Lord said inevitable and it would be an honour to endure and eventually win for his people. He became resolute and accepted his role in the coming battles with Satan the Lord of Darkness. He was allowed to rise and with tears in his eyes Chamuel helped him back into the tent. his friends surrounded and comforted him when he sat down. Leathig held his hands up and said ' we all have a part to play in this fight and I will play mine as best I can'. With that said, he Lifted a goblet of wine and drank deeply, this action had the affect of closing the conversation, which they all gratefully accepted. The Angel Uriel stood and invited Aaron to follow him outside he finished his tankard of ale and stepped into the sunshine. The creator was already in the water, he held his hand out inviting Aaron to enter. He stepped into the pool and the creator, holding his shoulders, pushed him gently below the surface. Immediately the water felt welcoming and comforting, he also could feel the energy flowing into him and could hear the voice of the creator in his mind. ' You Aaron are of the line of the first men, you are a direct descendant of Adam, Noah and Abraham, the Kings of men. You will be crowned by the people as their king when you cross the sea below this mountain' 'How are we to cross Lord, we have no ships?' he heard himself ask. ' You have no need of ships, You will be given the means within yourself and your staff to create a pathway across the sea to Sinai,where you will establish a city where your people will grow and prosper, before continuing on their journey to the land I have prepared for you. Work with Leathig in this and it will be accomplished. ' Now behold'. As soon as he heard these words the faces of his ancestors appeared in his head and all the accumulated knowledge they had acquired in life was given to him, not only his ancestors but the faces of his children and their children in fact all the progeny of his line and all the accumulated knowledge they would attain was registered in his mind. He was aware of atoms,protons, mathematics, physics in fact all the knowledge of the human race for millenia to come was gifted to him. His brain could hardly hold it all. He asked the creator why? Why all this knowledge?'. 'You have been given this because in order to manipulate the universe with your staff, which I have empowered to its greatest degree as a conduit to my power. You can only change what you have the knowledge to change, you must know the consequences of that change, throughout your place within this cosmos. This is why your mental capacity along with your span of years has been expanded you will live a very long time Aaron but I will need you as my representative on this planet. You will have to change your name many times in this world to continue with my work and yours. You will know what do when those times come. leave the water now and attend to your friends my work here is almost completed. Aaron stepped out of the water he looked around, he knew the names of all things and their composition he knew with the power of his staff he could accomplish almost anything. He walked deep in thought into the tent. He acknowledged his friends and filled a tankard of the good ale and sitting down, he drank deeply. Michael stood now and invited Joshua to follow him Joshua stood and with a frightened look on his face he followed Michael out of the tent and into the water with the Creator. As his head went below the surface he heard the voice of the Creator saying ' fear not Joshua you have been chosen as the right hand of Aaron who is soon to become your King. You will be given great strength and a stronger frame in which to utilise this strength, you will be taught the use of many weapons and the use of and manipulation of armies. You will maintain the law for my people and yours and you will give peace and instigate trade with the many nations you will come into contact with. I will give you the ability to see the strength and failings in men and woman in order to deal with them both in conflict and in alliance. I will instil confidence and belief in yourself and your abilities. The changes that are made here are made from the beginning. Only those who are here will know there has been a change at all, those who know you will have always known you as you are now, it is the nature of things. I will hand you over to Michael for your teaching in these things. He was turned around and when he lifted his head out of the water the Creator was gone and the Archangel Michael held his shoulders, he was pushed under again and now the voice of Michael was in his head. He was taken through the various moves with all weapons, especially a long heavy type of sword he had never seen before, it was nearly six feet long and double handed, with a double blade. He knew he would have to wear this weapon with a baldric holster on his back and with Michael's teaching, this became his weapon of choice. He also trained with spears, bows, axes, lances, in fact he became very proficient in the use of all weapons and the manipulation of armies. The defense tactics and attack tactics, he was trained to be a master in all things military. When it was over he left the water and he also entered the tent. Aaron stood and stared at him. ' why Joshua you have grown and you seem very powerful I am glad you are my friend, as he said this he slapped him on the shoulder and handed him a tankard of ale, Joshua smiling took it and emptied it in one long quaff, after wiping his mouth he laughed out loud and sat down looking round at his friends all appreciated what was happening and Jacob stood up. The mood became serious again and the men watched as Raphael the angel invited Jacob to go with him to the water. The Creator again was waiting in the pool and when Jacob entered his head was quickly pushed below the surface, he heard the voice of the lord in his head. ' Jacob you are being given the power to heal and to cure illness and sickness in your people. You will be given knowledge to diagnose and cure diseases never yet encountered, you will have your lifetime expanded and you will retain youth for many years to come.With the knowledge you will have you will teach others to help you in your work. I will give you the stone of life giving water, this stone will help you to both quench the thirst of your people and will give you clean water to cleanse their wounds and as a life enhancing drink. Build a temple in my name at Sinai and house the stone and your house of healing there. Go now with your staff and new knowledge of healing and return to the tent with Raphael your Councillor. Jacob left the pool with the angel and entered the tent, he sat down and contemplated all he had heard trying to take all of it in and to accept his role in this coming conflict.His friends seeing Jacob deep in thought left him to his musings. After they had eaten and talked with their respective partner Angels they were asked by the Angel Gabriel to step out side. The Lord God Of all was standing next to a rectangular stone it was black marble with red flecks and iron handles at both ends. ' This is the stone of the water of life I promised to you Jacob, strike the stone once and the clear sweet water of life will come forth, on the second strike it will cease, take this stone and place it in between my temple and the new house of healing to be built in the new City of Sinai.As long as the Covenant is kept between us the water will flow.' Michael The Archangel then spoke to Joshua ' come with me Joshua and I will give the Gifts and weapons you were promised.' Joshua followed the angel into a before unseen cave, where after a short time he returned wearing long black leather boots with metal heels and red boiled leather Armour., a thing unknown at that time. In an ornately carved scabbard hanging from a silver and red leather belt embossed with Angels armed with flaming spears and swords, a bejewelled pommel could be seen, when Joshua drew the sword the weapon was exquisitely formed, it had a four foot long shining steel blade, a material that wouldn't be invented for thousands of years, the sword was very sharp and double edged, a longsword and very lightweight, Joshua held it as though he had owned it for years, he looked at it and weighed it with his eyes, after two sweeping cuts from right to left he sheathed it fluidly and smiled at Michael, who returned a knowing nod, in mutual appreciation of the quality of blade that it was. The Creator then called to Joshua, in his hands he held a six foot long broadsword, it also was exquisitely made. The blade was black and made of tungsten and nickel with canneled sharpened edges. The heavy pommel held a deep blue sapphire, which glowed strangely darkly, like a smooth polished surface and exuded tremendous power. The double handed grip was cross laced in black leather down to the wide cross-member, which represented angels wings. The very long double and very sharp blade had runes etched on both sides all the way to the very sharp point. The Creator offered the sword to Joshua saying, ' this is the "Flame Of The Covenant", this weapon has been forged for you and you alone Joshua, use it well. When fighting the hordes of Satan this weapon will come into its own, that is the reason it was made, the demon horde cannot stand against this sword or its wielder be resolute and unafraid. ' Go now all of you back down the mountain, I cannot interfere in your dealings with the Lord Of Chaos but I can move things sometimes in your favour. Joshua slipped his broadsword into the scabbard in the baldric on his back and took up the handles of the stone . The Hebrews along with their Angel aids who were now wearing Armour and with the now powerfully built Joshua carrying the stone, they walked slowly and methodically down the mountain to their people and their fate. Archived comments for New Freedom Chapter Three. Texasgreg on 18-09-2012 New Freedom Chapter Two. Ya know duke, I'm not much of a sci-fi guy, but this is a cool take. Hope your mind isn't wandering whilst driving, LOL. Super good!
Greg π Author's Reply: Thanks again Greg. I am writing in comfort just now knowing I can change anything when I see fit. this somehow gives me confidence. I hope you noticed I made the changes you advised in the previous chapter, it worked a treat. Thanks again Greg. Once I part the Red Sea the whole story opens up and I have carte-blanche to with as I please. You Know I appreciate your comments Greg. 'Filll your hands you son of a bitch' niece on 20-09-2012 New Freedom Chapter Two. Very nice, WFF...may need to work on the conversation et al later...but that's secondary...getting the first draft done is more important...enjoyed !!! π Regds, niece Author's Reply: This Is pouring out and I agree with you niece, I'm having no trouble at all with situation and plot but the dialogue is killing me.My characters are all one dimensional. it's heart-rending. I'll get there after all as you so rightly pointed out....first draft. thanks for your help. Weefatfella. |
| New Freedom Chapter Two. (posted on: 17-09-12) A possible History of the Scottish Nation. Ten weeks before the Exodus,Leathig and Jacob had approached the palace of the Pharaoh. The guards attempted to stop them entering the inner buildings 'begone slaves,Turn around, you cannot enter here'. The soldiers drew their weapons ,Jacob pushed a thought towards each soldier, stopping them in their tracks and after sensing further into the palace, every guard was similarly struck, as though asleep, their eyes were open but their minds were Jacobs. With no further interruption the two men continued on toward the pharaoh.They marveled at the extravagant drapes and furnishings as they made their way through the Palace. Statues of Egyptian Gods and animals stood on plinths reflecting brightly on highly polished black marble floors There were richly coloured mosaics depicting the Pharaoh himself riding his golden chariot with javelin in hand and wearing his golden armour. All around the walls were hieroglyphics in vibrant colours banded in gold and ochre. There were squares of carved rock depicting ancient Egyptian victories in battle. Silk sweeping curtains in pastel shades hid alcoves leading off from the main hallway with guards posted carrying the scythe shaped Egyptian khopesh.A wide stairway with ebony dark wood bannisters topped with gold caps swept in an arc up to the second floor with similarly armed guards at the bottom denying access. Down a narrow hallway Behind blue satin drapes, a silver door guarded by two spear-men could be seen.The door held a representation of a pale blue fish blowing water into a large golden amphora being balanced on the shoulder of a beautiful and naked serving girl. Obviously the Baths. The two guards stared ahead unseeing. Leathig using his two hands parted the guards and entered the Pharaohs bath-house. The room was tiled from floor to ceiling in pristine white. Large sweeping red silk drapes covered the walls, A golden chariot complete with horses and two occupants, the older being Rameses holding the controlling reins of the two golden horses signifying his control over upper and lower Egypt. The other rider his first born son firing a short bow. The horses were rearing with front hooves raised in triumph. The statue stood on a double golden plinth to the right of the fifty foot square and five foot deep bath.To the left was a lifesized golden elephant standing between two geese with front legs lifted and spraying a shower of water into the bath. The Pharaoh was naked in the water with several naked concubines in attendance, washing and pampering him. As Jacob and Leathig made their entrance the Pharaoh screamed, 'What evil is this, begone from my presence' he ordered as he climbed the marble steps leading out of the bath. He grabbed his robe from one of his concubines and threw her to the floor. Leathig raised his staff, a thin blue shimmering light eased slowly from the orb inside the filigree on Leathig's staff surrounding the Pharaoh in a pale blue mist holding him still. ' The only evil in this place comes from you Pharaoh, I have been commanded by the Creator, lord God of all, to ask you to free my people willingly, let my people go and no harm will come to you or your people, resist the will of the Lord and it will not go well for you''. ' I know of no God but Ra' replied the Pharaoh as he pulled his blue robe about his thin weak looking frame ' Who is this Lord? I have never heard such madness and I, ruler of all Egypt will not let my Slaves go. I will begin to build a new and larger pyramid, I will make the slaves work twice as hard for their food, begone ' He waved his arm in dismissal ' This is your answer? asked Leathig? ' Go ' bawled the Slave-master out, out of my sight!'. Jacob and Leathig left the Palace releasing the hold on the Soldiers when they were beyond the walls. Leathig told Jacob to go home he would go and communicate with his Lord as instructed. He walked for five miles into the desert to the pre- arranged meeting place. Leathig sat on a rock and prayed to his Lord telling him what the Pharaoh had said. The air began to vibrate and a clear blue flame floated in front of him. ' Raise your staff over the Nile on your return', the flame commanded.' Tell your people not to drink from the river or the cisterns, for I will have turned the water to blood. Do not drink from the river for seven days, on the eighth day it will be pure again. This is to show the Pharaoh that I have dominion over him and all peoples. After seven days go to the Slave-master and ask him again, I await his answer'. Nine more times Leathig spoke with the Pharaoh asking him to free his people and only after eight horrible plagues and the death of all first born Egyptians including the Pharaoh's own son and heir,did he accede to Leathig and the Creator. ' Go ' he screamed ' get you, and your infernal people, your stubborn God and all of you leave now.' The Pharaoh turned away and Leathig spoke. ' We will leave at dawn and by the east gate '. The now compliant Ruler nodded his bald head and waved his hand in dismissal , Leathig left the palace. Now, on the top of the gate he and Jacob watched the last of the Hebrews leave Egypt.' hold the compulsion for a while longer please Jacob, I have a plan bearing fruit as we speak' Leathig said this as the two priests made their way down off the gate. The dust had settled and Leathig stood leaning on his staff and smiling at Jacob. ' Well we did it, we are leaving this infernal city, Thank the Lord indeed for his help but we are not out and safe yet' Jacob nodded and said ' it is a beginning Leathig we will strive and work hard and with those ability's and with the help of God we will accomplish our goals, Have faith and pride in our people and we will succeed'. A soft rumbling filled the air and a mounted horseman in the middle of a dust cloud could be seen approaching the gate at speed, it was Shemuel Shiphtan's son he was mounted on a magnificent black stallion. In has hand he held a long rope which was attached to another horse, coming up behind was his brother Kemuel riding a white dappled mare, he also was holding a rope the boys were both still in their teens, along with their father they had raided the stables of their horses taking 200 in total. Shiphtan came rolling round the corner in a long heavily loaded four wheeled cart being pulled by four massive dray horses and with two more tied to the rear of the wagon. He waved at the two priests and drew alongside in a sweep of dust, the horses whinnied and stamped their feet.The two boys continued to herd the horses. Leathig held his robe over his mouth to protect himself from the dust, he waited till the noise died down and the two hundred horses were safely through the gates before asking Shiphtan, ' What is this?he asked pointing at the cart, I only asked you to steal the horses'. ' We will need to trade to survive' said Shiphtan so I have taken this cart and these magnificent animals to begin just that and if we don't trade, we can carry more in the desert till we find our new home'. A smiling Leathig and Jacob climbed up onto the cart and they followed the herd of horses through the gates. At the other side Leathig dismounted from the cart and turning towards the gates he raised his staff. The crystal at the tip began to glow and the huge gates began to close. When both sides locked together with a bang, a stern faced Leathig took the glowing staff in both hands and rapped the heel of the staff sharply on the gates. The gates buckled from their wheels and with a grating sound the hinges fused, effectively sealing them closed. Behind the gates inside the city the beard on the statue of Rameses split and fell to the ground, followed by the crook and the flail. Leathig remounted the cart and signalled for Shiphtan to follow their people into the waiting desert. Archived comments for New Freedom Chapter Two. franciman on 17-09-2012 New Freedom Chapter one continued. Hi there, I'm a fellow Scot so I am intrigued by your premise. I think we need to see some connection up front, to keep our interest. if not then we need more dynamic dialogue: the story so far is too well known otherwise. Sorry to sound negative. The writing is good, but it needs to engage the reader more. cheers, Jim Author's Reply: You are spot on Jim, I have to lay the theme. My story doesn't really begin till after the Red Sea. ( See Demons lair) I in my mind i take over from there.I am working on the Idea no one knows the Story. Maybe a bit Naively.Still I batter Oan. Texasgreg on 18-09-2012 New Freedom Chapter one continued. Aye! Donβt fergit ta have manna poppinβ outta magic bagpipes, lol. I think after talkinβ to Jim, youβre wrapping your head well around it. Awaiting follow-upβ¦ .Greg πAuthor's Reply: niece on 18-09-2012 New Freedom Chapter one continued. Yul Brynner came to mind till you mentioned "thin weak looking frame" ... nicely written...look forward to the following chapters π Regds, niece Author's Reply: |
| The Wheraphukizi Tribe started it. Blame them (posted on: 14-09-12) Is this how it all began? The Whereaphuckizi Tribe. The red sun rose slowly, spreading out with a liquid orange glow highlighting the umbrella shaped baobab and acacia trees. It cast long sweeping shadows reaching towards a lone hyena, which was spooked by the encroaching blackness. The curious animal followed it sniffing the ground. The sun continued to rise bringing the plateau into bright relief, showing the bushes and trees in all their reds, blues and yellows. The red and yellow clouds flowed slowly and sedately along, completely aloof and continued quietly about their business. The new day had begun. A new era for the human race was just beginning. Men of the Wherraphukizi tribe ran on into the plains. They wore nothing but a leather loincloth and they all carried three spears a sharpened and fire hardened hardwood dagger and a bow with a quiver of three-foot long arrows. They all were of similar height of around five foot seven. The grass almost six foot high and heavy with seed was being pushed to the side as the homosapians loped strongly through. Kambo their leader climbed up on a rising flat boulder to get a view over the grass, the wide expanse of the plains met his eyes. There was a sea of long grass all the way to the horizion, in between, were various trees. Frankincense, whose sap was used for medicine, the Boabab tree, which carried water and the leaves were good for soup or just as a food, in fact all around Kambo could see his larder. The red tinged dawn created a beautiful watercolour effect across the grass turning the waving seed heads from grey to red to purple. The long pink clouds floated serenely and magically below an orange sky, silhouetting the rocks and trees, and reflecting sharply off the small lake in the foreground. Here, troops of elephants were washing and towers of giraffes were slaking their thirst. A vulture landed lightly on top of an acacia tree. A particularly wispy long yellow cloud floated quietly past framing the large bird. A lion roared, a hyena let out a long maniacal laugh, which seemed to echo forever before slowly dying away. Kambo sitting now on his haunches could just make out a dust cloud in the distance, he raised himself up to see over the grass, yes, coming this way was a herd of something, to his mind, food. He scouted round over to the left, half a mile away was a shelf with bushes and trees an ideal spot to defend against predators and would be a good safe vantage point to attack the coming herd. Kambo knew by the lie of the land the herd would skirt the small lake using it to protect one side of the herd and similarly would use the shelf of the plateau in the same manner. He signaled to the men and in single file they loped toward their target. They climbed onto the shelf and waited for what seemed an eternity. Eventually the stampeding herd approached dust and noise filled the air. It was wilder-beast they were traveling fast running and jumping high to escape their attackers. they were being hunted on either side by at least two lion prides who were looking for weaknesses to exploit. The hyena were barking excitedly and running alongside the lions hoping for whatever came their way. Kambo raised his spear and peered through the dust the wilder-beast were running and jumping high below him in a blur, he focused on one beast, he lined up his spear and holding his breath he threw, but missed. He waved his hand behind his back and felt another spear slipping into his hand, this spear felt smooth and sleek, he knew it belonged to Kinyanno. He made the best spears and when he weighted it in his hand he knew he wouldn't miss with this one. He chose another running beast and while holding his breath again he threw the spear. It pierced the shoulder of the unfortunate animal and went right through to the heart, killing it mercifully, instantly. The Wheraphukizy tribe would have meat tomorrow. The men managed to bag another two wilder-beast, which they butchered on site. They left nothing; bones were bagged for soup stock. The marrow sinews were used for all sorts, including bowstrings and ties for moccasins. The hide would be used for clothing. They built drying racks and placed meat strips to dry. The larger cuts were wrapped in the hide of the animals, to keep them fresh and for easier carrying. The process of butchering and skinning took all day. As night was coming, the men gathered thorn bushes and rocks to make an enclosed fire. Within a sleeping coral of piled high thorn and Acacia branches, along with the fire the thorns would deter any large predators. This would allow the men to sleep safely in the bush. They would sleep here tonight and head back to their village in the morning. They lit the fire within the rocks, which also would warm and give out heat. They ate supper of dried meat and some leaves and premixed food paste. They talked for a while before sleeping. Kambo informed Kinyanno 'you make wonderful spears, I knew when your spear was handed to me today I would hit my target, I, as leader of the tribe, want you to stay behind in the village and make spears. With you making those good spears the men will have more success in hunting,' He looked over to Makota 'you my friend make really good bows and accurate arrows; you will also stay behind and only make them. We will give you a haunch of meat for every five spears or bows you make.' Two months later the price of spears was two haunches of meat and the price of bows and arrows were double that and so the world of capitalism began. The men innocently lay down to sleep. The sun set slowly in the west. As it fell, it took back all it had given in the dawn. The sun slowly dipped under the horizon, retrieving it's shadows and leaving the men on the plateau with their self belief that capitalism was the way to go. Sadly even the dying sun didn't want that. Archived comments for The Wheraphukizi Tribe started it. Blame them amman on 15-09-2012 The Wheraphukizi Tribe started it. Blame them Enjoyable story WFF with a nice twist at the end. I'm one of 4.5 million New Zealanders who are always being asked 'wherthephukisnz'. Cheers. Author's Reply: Cheers Amman thanks for the comments. Andrea on 15-09-2012 The Wheraphukizi Tribe started it. Blame them Yep, pretty daft alright π Really enjoyed. Many people ask me wherthephukisnl - such an obscure, tiny country, hardly worth mentioning... Author's Reply: Thanks Andrea, Shh, My Daughter Angela put the Commas in, Shh she's, A Primary school, teacher, Ahem Taps side of beak Andrea on 15-09-2012 The Wheraphukizi Tribe started it. Blame them Did she? I thought I noticed an improvement π Author's Reply: Safact. whatacutebum on 15-09-2012 The Wheraphukizi Tribe started it. Blame them Very nice work. Spears are a bit over- priced I feel though. Can get a cheaper one for 1 haunch of meat at meatstretchers π Author's Reply: Aye Si, Capitalism run riot. A seen a sign in Leith wance ' joints r us ' don't think it wiz meat tho. thanks for the comments Si. |
| When Paul met Harry. (posted on: 14-09-12) I had become the victim of prescribed medication side effects, at their worst degree. When Paul Met Harry. I have suffered Rheumatoid Arthritis for the past four years. The only life-changing thing for me was remembering to take the bloody tablets. The number of times I've snuggled into bed and gotten really comfy, only to remember I have to go back down stairs to take the bloody things. My medication was changed from sulfasalazene, to methotrexate, the latter is for some a great help and relieves their symptoms but for me it was a nightmare. I had no consultation with this new drug, although I have since been advised this was essential and me not getting the consultation played a great part in my now serious and debilitating condition. As the main side effect was breathlessness. I also have been suffering for some time with Emphysema and C.O.P.D. Both these diseases have been taking my breath for years and my family know to expect me to stop and rest while we are going about in the world. This has been a common feature of my personality for years and my wee grandson Adam, who is five, now finds chairs for me in shops etc. The big change happened suddenly. I had been on methotrexate for two months, with ever increasing dosage, when I began to slow down; I put it down to my normally breathless condition. The boys on the taxi rank had noticed the change in my breathing and began to mention it. Some even had the temerity to challenge me to compete against them in the hundred-meter dash. This was the driver over sixty who wished to make a point of how unfit he thought I was. Some other drivers over a certain age would come up to me on the rank and tap-dance in front of me, to somehow enforce their supposed fitness in my face. All part of the taxi rank banter which I knew, was done in good part, and which I fully enjoyed. I was now becoming very breathless, especially in the mornings. Theresa, my long suffering Sweetness, took it into her own hands and made an appointment for me with my GP. After a chest examination the doctor immediately phoned my rheumatologist, who advised me to discontinue with the methotrexate and make an appointment to see her ASAP, this I did but never made the appointment. The following Sunday, I was driving back into Bathgate to pick my wife up from visiting her God, when the Mobile rang. ''Harro eez rat meester Howrthone?'' I thought it was one of those shady calls asking me to buy something; I nearly dumped the caller. Just as I was about to, I heard, '' Ris ees douctar, kooliiwalliieeedooda. I'm carring fram the Waster Geneerul Hospingtal and I waant to see you as sooon as poosabule. I have mood enn apentment'' He was calling from The Western General and was obviously very concerned about my possible medical condition. He wanted to see me on the following Friday, I never made that appointment either. I soldiered on through the following week, my breathing was getting worse, I was informed by my GP that emergency services had been made aware that I might call, and to have oxygen ready, Etc. Even knowing this, didn't really alarm me, I put it down to arse covering on my GPs part. Thursday morning, I was hanging over the sink while sitting on the bath, trying to shave prior to going to work, when I realised. 'For Goad sake ya nutcase yir dyin here, git in and see Theresa, tae see whit she thinks' It was 5-30 am. The sweetness was out cold, I walked into the bedroom and she woke, she jumped up and switched on the light ''Fur Goad sake You look terrible, sit oan that bed the noo'' I, with petted lip, sat down and a tear slipped from my petulant eye. My Sweetness would look after me now. I allowed her to run the show from here. She picked up the phone and called my daughter Jennifer, who is a nurse and worries like hell about everything to do with her mother and myself. She advised NHS 24 and they were called while Theresa informed my daughter Angela who lives in Wishaw who would also be very worried. The NHS 24 operator, when given all the facts, contacted Dr Raj. Who I must say was absolutely brilliant and quickly diagnosed double Pneumonia. He ordered a blue light ambulance and phoned his driver to bring in the oxygen. I was hooked up and we waited the short time until the ambulance, noisily, and with lights flashing and all whistles and bells ringing, arrived screeching to a halt. They wheeked me out to the vehicle, where I was again hooked up to oxygen and examined fully, before being quickly transferred to hospital. At the hospital, I was accepted into A+E where double Pneumonia was verified. They wheeked the breeks off of me, and a trainee doctor attempted to access my wrist artery with a very mobile and sharp needle, after six attempts and a huge amount of discomfort, I asked the wee soul to stop, and go get someone who knew what they were doing, before I remembered my old karate training and began to practice on her wee nose. They transferred me to medical admissions ward 22 where I was propositioned by a rather easy on the eye young female doctor from Dubai. No sooner had my Sweetness and family left the room while she fitted a cannula to my wrist, when she cheekily took the opporchancity to offer me casual sex. ''While your family are out of the room'' says the brazent hussy. ''Have you had casual sex or used a dirty needle recently?'' I was gob smacked, a doctor asking me this. She must have known I would have to decline, I was in no fit state for frolics, especially with one so young, and my family just outside the door for Goad sake, so I diplomatically declined. I was judged to be very seriously ill with Pneumo Cistis in both lungs, a very dangerous, incipient, and serious condition. Which was caused by hypersensitivity to the prescription drug methotrexate. The disease was still actively attacking my lungs. Seemingly this condition was very rare and I was One In ten Million, Aye Right. I was taken to the high dependency unit where I met a doctor dressed in greens, who frightened the life nearly right out of me. ''I am Doctor so and so'' he informed me, ''I'm from intensive therapy downstairs, I've been asked to speak to you and get to know you, in case I need to take you down and switch you off.'' Whatever he really said has become a blur. I only heard Ventilator, a machine that breaths for you and 'switch you off,' I was informed that not everyone returns from those depths, so I was petrified. He continued, now in my mind to be twirling his mustachio and rubbing his hands. I'm sure he had count Dracula's hairline, with the face of uncle fester from the Adams Family. He gibbered on for some time but I had switched off. I was on 98% oxygen and could only maintain saturation of 83%. The muscles working my lungs were under extreme pressure and were tiring. I was in a very bad way indeed. An alternative to the Ventilator was the C pap mask or Continuous positive airway pressure mask. The mask is tied on very tightly and the oxygen is pumped in at a high enough pressure to inflate the lungs, allowing the muscles to rest. I was asked to try this for ten minutes. I wore it nearly constantly for almost a week before the doctors prized it away from me. I would have done anything to keep away from that bloody casket shaped ventilator. Sorry thing was, my wee pal and grandson Adam, after seeing his auld Papa with the mask on, wasn't happy at all, I tried to reassure him with the divers hand signal of thumbs up but my wee pal wiznae huvin it. He had a wee sad face on the whole visiting time; after I removed the mask he perked up and gave me a wee smile. He went home and came downstairs with his own Darth Vader mask; he chapped the lounge door, my daughter Angela his mum said, ''Come in'' Adam switched on the Darth Vader heavy breathing on the mask and called ''Mummy! Your Daddies here.'' Wee shite. It was during this extremely traumatic time, my daughter Jennifer introduced me to my very good friend Harry. Harry is a heart shaped and very fluffy and vividly pink cushion. Whenever a hole appeared in my pillows to cause me the least discomfort, Harry had the perfect shape to fit in and fill the gap to relieve my stress, he did this, I believe, automatically. Tom hanks in castaway had Wilson I have Harry. He is at this very moment at my back providing the same level of care. I was moved from ward to ward as I made my recovery and Harry stood by me all the way, people always commented on him purely because he's pink and fluffy but I am secure in my sexuality and so is Harry. My saturation levels were now improving, and while on 10litres of oxygen I was holding at 90%. My doctor came in to examine me and expressed his pleasure at my continuing recovery, so much so, that he decided to show the improvement to his accompanying student doctors. He leaned over and switched off my oxygen, he then began a question and answer game with his students, which lasted much longer I believe, than even he expected. I was going blue in the face and began to buck and thrust, my body was being starved of oxygen, I was seeing stars and began to wave my arms about, no one took any notice. I coughed loudly and farted, this caught the doctor's attention and he began to make his apologies ''Oh Mr Hawthorne I'm terribly sorry ('switch the fucking oxygen oan ya nutter I'm dying here'). I was so busy teaching'' (Will somebody switch the bloody Oxygen oan, Hey cummoan fur oany bloody favour') One of the students pushed her way across and switched on the oxygen eventually, saving my life, I drew enough air to fill the Hindenburg twice over, while making a noise like a balloon with a squeezed neck. I gave my saviour a thanking smile; she smiled knowingly back and patted the bed. The doctor was still making his apologies, for all he knew I had died. They all quickly left the room and I, who had been selectively constipated since my admittance found myself, because of my near death experience, in grave need of a bowel movement. I hated the thought of asking the very young nurse for the commode; after all she looked to be about twelve years old. I bit the bullet, I had no choice, it was coming whether I had the use of the facility or not. The nurse left the room to allow me to attend to my ablutions. She had used the lazy option of slipping the bedpan on top of the commode, and not the proper way, by fitting the pan into the slides provided in the bottom of the chair. This has the unfortunate effect of, when one is using the facility, the pan has no depth, the stool attempts to regain entry to the bowel. It hits the shallow draft and turns around like a walnut whip and tries to go back in, a most uncomfortable feeling, and easily avoided by the more attentive nurse. I shoogled and shook, in a grave attempt to create more space for the five day old defecation but there was too much material and I filled the bloody thing to the brim. I was so embarrassed I tried to hide its existence from the world with paper towels and body spray. After being thoroughly ashamed of having the audacity to empty my bowels in the first place, I jumped off the commode and began to use the towels for their obvious function when I thought an appearance by the nurse was imminent. I prematurely pulled up my breeks just as she walked in. I sat on the chair and realised I hadn't completed the wiping job. The wee nurse had thoughtfully brought a basin and towel for me to wash myself with. I was ecstatic. The arse-wiping job could now be completed. I washed my nether regions first, before I suddenly realised, I could go no further, another hard lesson learned in the school of hard knocks. Wash yir arse last, if you only have one basin of water. I recovered enough to be moved to ward 21 where I, surprise surprise, met a really nice plumber from South Queensferry with exactly the same condition as me, making a lie of the ten million to one theory. Allan was two steps ahead of me in his treatment; I looked to him to gauge my recovery. Then my eyes packed in, I couldn't see a thing in front of me, all was a blur, The laptop my daughter Ang had lent me was useless to me, I was now cut off from the world of the healthy buggers. My good friend Anton, who brought me in a much-needed roll on sausage from his wife Theresa's Snack van, thankfully visited me on a regular basis. The roll, on consumption, was rapturous; Theresa makes a mean roll on sausage. Many of my friends from the taxi trade visited regularly which was a great source of comfort to me. My immediate family never really left my side and were attentive to my every need. The Doctor I was under was very holistic in his approach and left no stone unturned, he gave me great confidence in his obvious abilities and expertise and I was grateful to have him as my consultant. I am now at home and suddenly, believe it or not while writing this, my eyes have found their focus and I fight on. Archived comments for When Paul met Harry. Texasgreg on 14-09-2012 When Paul met Harry. A long stay in Hospital. Here ya go, Duke. Keep practicing and you'll get it. Remember to paste from the html code and remove everything from the left of and including blank> Your pride shines through well in this pic! 
my wee grandson Adam, who is five, now finds chairs for me in shops etc. I was propositioned by a rather easy on the eye young female doctor from Dubai. He went home and came downstairs with his own Darth Vader mask Harry had the perfect shape to fit in and fill the gap to relieve my stress, he did this, I believe, automatically. another hard lesson learned in the school of hard knocks. Wash yir arse last if you only have one basin of water. I am now at home and suddenly, believe it or not while writing this, my eyes have found their focus and I fight on. Duke, the touching moments and super humor you weave in this story are brilliant, IMO. I like the last line best! Hang in there, bro... .
Greg π Author's Reply: Hi Greg, I tried to send a wee photo of my wee grandson Adam and His auld Papa, both wearing the kilt but when I did it deleted my previous comments. I still will use your Desire Mantra and I still batter on. Always enjoy your Insight and your pictures Greg. Thanks again for all. Andrea on 15-09-2012 When Paul met Harry. What a tale, WFF! Sorry to hear you've been so ill. Still at least you haven't lost your sense of humour π As Greg says...hang in there. Author's Reply: Thanks Andrea and my daughter wasn't available for this one. I soldier on no bloody choice. anyway as I said to Greg, Laughter is the best medicine. Thanks for indulging me Andrea you know I value your Critique. niece on 17-09-2012 When Paul met Harry. Get well soon, WFF. It's good that the symptoms were diagnosed in the nick of time...Didn't realise it was ill-health that kept you from UKA...but great to have you back. Keep writing...I enjoy your posts a lot... Regds, niece Author's Reply: Thank you niece. It's great to be back. I have a wonderful family who wouldn't let the wind blow on me. With their love I shall Prevail. Thank You niece for your always kind comments. |
| Are You Illiterate? (posted on: 17-08-12) Never look a gift horse. Are You Illiterate? Corporal Geordie Campbell and his sidekick private Davy Gemmell, crawled slowly through the long grass. It was 9 am on Sunday 15 August 1673. The warm sun was drying the dew; a cloud of low ethereal mist was rolling silently across the steep hillside. They searched the undulating and sometimes dramatically dropping countryside.The land was populated with small copses of beech and oak intermixed with chestnut and maple trees, all of which could shelter a small Conventicle. The Pentland hills resting below a clear blue sky seemed to the eye to be very far away, a good sign of a continuing long sunny day. Campbell removed his mitre hat and pulled his Musket forward as he tried to reach over the crown of the hill, better to see if any guards had been posted, seeing none he stood and suddenly dropped back down to his knees, ''Davy, there under that spreading oak about twenty ae the bastards, a shoal ae fish right enough, oh and there he is Meenister Grey that auld torn faced cleric, A'd love tae catch that auld goat.'' ''Oh aye Geordie, but look yonder, behind that big chestnut tree. See the horse? That's a fine lookin animal and weel looked efter. It's shining man.'' The horse had been tied to the tree far to the right of the Conventicle, just behind a small hill and Campbell thought, invisible from the small crowd of worshipers. He examined the congregation more closely trying to see who could be the owner of such an expensive piece of livestock. There she stood with bible in hand. ''Oh aye, oh aye, bold as the nose oan ma ugly face. That's Pottishaw's wife standing there, aw holier than thou and twice as brazent.'' ''Aye A think yie have it right Geordie.We'd better take her and that auld bastard Grey if we can' he answered, as he began to prime his musket. ''Hold it the noo let's think oan this'' said Geordie. ''If we take Grey and Pottishaw's wife tae Edinburgh, how much are we gonnae make?'' ''Weel that's easy. Fur the lkes ae that auld meenister, we'll git maybe £3. Fur pottishaws young wife,'' Davy put his dirty finger to his filthy chin and licked it, ''Eh, £2 a hink, aye £2 and nae mair. Sodjer Miller and Wullie Forsyth dragged in an auld Lairds wifey maybe six months ago, an aw they twa gote wiz £2, A don't think the age ae the bastards matters.'' ''Ok.'' Agreed Geordie. So £5 pounds fur the pair, not a bad days work Davy but think oan this.'' ''How much will the laird ae Pottishaw gie us fur the safe return o his bonnie wee wife eh? How aboot that?'' Said Geordie smiling widely and sticking his tongue out between teeth like a burnt fence. ''Whit dae yie mean? If we grab his wife, all she has tae say is we abducted her. Aw naw Geordie yi'll huvtae come up wi a better plan than that, if yie want me in,'' Davy complained, shaking his head. ''We'll take the horse'' said Geordie, ''if we take the horse, Pottishaw, who will know his holier than thou wee wuman likes tae pray oan a Sunday, and he's probably already told her that one day she could be captured wi the likes ae us. Well, that day has come.Auld Pottishaw will be mair than happy tae bargain wi us and give us a good price fur oor silence, maybe £10 or £11 but we will need tae git that horse first.'' With the plan in place the two dragoons back-tracked to fetch their own mounts, then mounted, they took a wide route round the hill coming up behind the chestnut tree sheltering their prize. As they approached the horse a young boy of around fifteen stood up from the tree trunk but seeing the two dragoons were clearly armed. He bolted. Davy dismounted and untied the animal. He threw a halter round it's neck and handed the rope to Geordie who, smiling, turned quickly and led the prize back up the hillside. Davy pointed his musket at the youth's receding back, the fleeing youth let out a scream and dived to the ground. Davy laughing galloped after Geordie. The worshipers seeing nothing carried on praying. The two men now in possession of the horse ,galloped off to Pottishaw. Outside the gates of the manor house they removed the saddle, which had the Pottishaw coat of arms embossed on the blanket and repeated on the saddle knee. Geordie carried the saddle towards the house. He stopped at the back door and pulled the large chain twice. A bell could be heard from inside. The door opened, a kitchen maid wearing a cloth over her dark hair and flour on her face and hands, popped her head out saying ''Aye who are yie? What dae yie want?'' ''A'd like a wee word wae the Laird if yie dinna mind hen, A huv sumthin he'll want tae know aboot, go and bring him now,'' he ordered. ''Oh, are you some kind ae Earl or maybe a Duke or sumthin that A wid caw the Maister fur? Away yir jist a common sodjer and whit are yie dain wi her Ladyships saddle? '' ''Caw yir Maister afore a go away, an yie find yirsell in deep smelly shite ya wee scurl.Cummon noo,sherpish.'' (scurl is an unsightly healing scab over a wound. ) The door closed and a few minutes later the wee 'scurl' returned. ''Yi'v tae bring yirsell in and leave the saddle here on the scullery flair, the Maister will see yie in his study.'' Geordie nodded and headed through the large kitchen but he kept hold of the saddle, after all, if he dropped this he had no cards to play and ' he wiznae daft', he thought to himself. After a few wrong turns he found himself at the study door, standing inside was the imposing figure of James Carmichael Laird of Pottishaw. ''In yie come put my property down and tell me why I shouldn't call the guards and have you shot?'' ''Naw yir Lairdship a dinnae think that's a good idea. Ma freend is ootside yir walls wie the fine horse that wiz wearing this saddle a few minutes ago. The same horse we found tied at Handaxe wood, where your lovely wife wiz illegally attending a Conventicle under the direction ae that auld Presbyterian cleric, Meenister Grey. Wan day a'll huv him tae.'' ''Right, are you illiterate?'' asked the Laird. ''Whit kinda question is that? Ma auld maw wiz merit, but ma faither buggered aff when a wiz a boy, but A hud a faither Sur an that's a fact.'' replied Campbell angrily. ''No man, No, I asked can you read? Can you decipher the written word if it's placed in front of you?'' ''Course A can, why, pit sumhin doon tae me wie writin oan it and A'll tell yie whit it says in a wee minute, but it's been a long moarning an a'm not feelin too great the noo. A gote stung wi a wasp a coupla days ago an ma een husnae quite gote the focus it yist tae huv. Things are jist a wee bit blurred yit, why?'' Pleaded Geordie. ''How much do you want for you and your accomplice's silence?'' ''A'll be straight wie yie Yir Lairdship, £15 ought tae do it. Aye that's a good days work, Davy and me agreed oan that, £15 Scoats and we were never here Sur.'' ''By your uniform I can see you're a Dragoon cavalry man. How much do you think that fine horse of my beautiful wife's is worth?'' '' A fine specimen like that Sur, and a Stallion ungelded. Maybe £30 Sur, if A could be so bold to say it, and not find you displeased Sur.'' Geordie offered. ''I paid £60. He's from Arabic stock and worth every penny'' ''Take the horse to Lanark, and sell him at the market there, but leave the saddle here it was a birthday present, what do you think?'' said Pottishaw. ''Aye that's a good horse, and A'll no deny his worth, but if A take a thoroughbred animal like that tae market, naebody will believe A gote it honestly. A'll be arrested an maybe take your wifes place hingin fae the gallows in Edinburgh's Grassmarket.'' ''Good point,'' agreed the Laird,'' you're obviously an astute man.'' Geordies eyebrow lifted at that, but he let it go. ''I'll write you a bill of sale, with that, no one could say it wasn't yours.'' countered Potttishaw. ''What's your name and I'll write it out?'' He said this as he sat behind his imposing walnut desk and opened the top drawer containing his writing equipment, quill, inkwell, paper and sealing wax. His stamp was sitting proudly on top of the desk. Geordie gave him the required information and the Laird signed his Bill of sale with a flourish. He folded the paper into an envelope shape and after placing the paper in a silver tray, he melted wax over a candle and poured it over the join of the Bill of Sale and again with a flourish and a loud bang making Geordie jump, he sealed the bargain and the envelope. He offered the Bill of sale to Geordie, who shaking with the excitement of earning more than six months wages in one day even after sharing £10 with Davy, took the paper and quickly walked out of the house never looking back in case the Laird changed his obviously weak mind. Outside the two men danced around hugging each other unable to believe their luck. They mounted their horses, secured the 'fine beast' again with the halter and headed trailing their prize, the 16 miles south to Lanark. By the time these two rogues got to Lanark, it was 7.15 pm and the market had closed. They found an Inn, and after settling the horses in the livery stable, they went inside. The Inn was bright and cheery with oak tables and stools. A fire was burning warmly in the large hearth and a wonderful aroma of good beef being cooked, filled their hungry nostrils. They both sat at a table and a comely buxom lassie swinging a towel and smiling, approached the two dragoons. ''Whit will it be boys? Drink? Or a bowl ae the finest stew in this or oany other shire? Or both? We huv the best ale in Scotland.'' ''Aye that'sh a fact.'' This booming statement came from the bar. It was the Landlord. He was massive, at least seven feet tall, with a huge head of black hair growing above the biggest nose the dragoons had ever seen. It must have stuck out at least six inches, hooked and with flared hairy nostrils. It sat beneath two huge brown eyes covered with exceptionally long curling eyebrows, below this proboscis, were two thick purple lips, the bottom lip partially covered by two long and sharp buck-teeth. He was the ugliest bastard the two dragoons had ever seen. His long beard was pleated and had wooden spikes through it. The reason for which, they had no idea and were afraid to ask. ''Can wie huv jist whit she said? A bowel ae beef stew each, and two tankards of ale, if yie dinnae mind.'' ''Cummin up, whit bringsh you dragoonsh tae Lanark? A believe the Coventiclesh are quiet roond aboot here, we don't hear of oany oanywie. Oh excushe me, my name ish William Wallashe and I'm the proprieter of thish, The Push it Inn. Finesht Inn in Lanark. If A don't shay sho mashell.'' The two dragoons were happy to tell Wallace of how they had gotten the better of Pottishaw and how they would make a small fortune in the morning at the market selling the Arabic pedigree and thoroughbred horse. The Landlord frowned on hearing the story. ''A bill of Shale, you shay? Do you have it?'' He ashked. ''Aye, We dae.'' Geordie pulled the paper with the seal still intact from his pocket. '' Huv yie not read it man? Yiv'e come all thish way without reading the damned thing. The sheal ish shtill unbroken, how do you know it's a Bill of Shale? Can any ae you two read?'' The two dragoons looked at each other and shook their heads. Geordie handed the paper to Wallace. The Landord took the 'Bill of Sale' in his massive hands, he delicately for such a big man, broke the seal and carefully unfolded the expensive and perfectly folded paper, some of the wax fell to the floor and slipped in between the cracks in the flooring, Geordie bit his lip, he could hear Davy breathing hard close to his ear as their excitement rose. Wallace slowly unfolded the paper and began to read...The note began.... These two rascals have stolen my horse..................... Archived comments for Are You Illiterate? amman on 18-08-2012 Are You Illiterate? Hi WWF. Great story; totally engossing. Loved the dialect (although had to read slowly at times). Saw the denouement coming; good job they gave the bill of sale to the Landlord. Cheers. Author's Reply: Texasgreg on 18-08-2012 Are You Illiterate? Funny 'un Duke! 
Same could go for the gift snake... .
Greg π Author's Reply: Andrea on 22-08-2012 Are You Illiterate? Another great tale, WFF - must have missed this one before! Author's Reply: niece on 23-08-2012 Are You Illiterate? π ... that was a fun read, WFF... I do love your funny tales ... Regds, niece Author's Reply: |
| New Freedom Chapter One (posted on: 13-08-12) A history of the Scottish people as I see it. New Freedom. Chapter One. The sun had blessed this day with a warm clear light, the shadows as busy as the people. The noise was deafening. Aaron, grinning, stowed his bedding in the cart, and slid his staff into its sheath behind his back, he picked up his short mallet and began to dismantle his goat- hair tent. He did this quickly, pulling out the holding pins bagging them, then peeling off the hide sheets, then, after rolling and folding the stiff material he lashed it to keep it together before stowing it in his cart. He returned and gathered the poles from the tent frame examining them closely and placing them all together in the middle of where the tent had stood. He made bundles of the poles according to size and tied them together; as he hoisted them onto his shoulder he caught sight of Elisabed. She had been busy packing her family tent with her two sisters Hanna and Miriam, on seeing him, she pushed her long dark hair away from her face with the back of her hand, and while flicking her head, she looked towards him from behind her elbow. She smiled, her teeth sparkling behind perfectly shaped lips, which were slightly parted showing seductively, the wet tip of her tongue. She had pasted terracotta eyeliner over her eyelids and thin blue lines beneath, to highlight her impossibly blue eyes. She flashed those eyes at him, a timelessly effective gambit. He felt like he was being mesmerized. All sorts of emotions came over him, feeling dizzy, he shook himself, and freeing himself from her onslaught, he returned the smile. She laughed as she swaggered towards her cart to store the poles, her sisters slapping her on the shoulder, all enjoying the game. All around people were loading their belongings onto packs and carts; he walked to his own cart and placed the bundle beside the tent skins. Apart from his tent, now stowed, he didn't own much. Pulling back the covering revealed, an old short handled axe, a sack with some fruit, bread and assorted spices and flavourings, an old pot, bashed and dented, a pile of laundry, and wrapped in a towel, a change of clothes, covered with his dead fathers old cloak, warm but still serviceable. Not much to begin his new life with but he knew everything would change. He could see everyone smiling and eying each other excitedly. Aaron, after taking an apple from the cart, walked to his small paddock where he kept his horse. As he approached, the old stallion whinnied and dragged the dust with his left foot, the right had been hobbled to keep him from wandering. Aaron freed him after giving him a piece of fruit and rubbed his nose. They both walked to the cart and Aaron hitched the horse, he hoped the old boy was up to the coming journey but then again was anyone. The donkeys were braying and complaining under the heavy loads. Everyone had to leave by the east gate as soon as possible. He jumped onto his cart. After placing his staff next to him, he flicked the reins. 'Go on' he called, as he threaded his cart into the flow. The sound of cartwheels squeaking and groaning and animal feet stirring the dust, got louder and the air above, began to hum. Men, Women and children, with cattle and sheep, goats, horses and donkeys pulling carts of all sizes, loaded heavily with all the belongings of the Hebrew people headed toward the east gate. Aaron could see them moving in one long dusty, twisting line ahead, like a writhing, fluid snake. The Egyptian soldiers with glazed eyes were staggered at either side of the throng, weapons drawn but hanging limply at their sides. The cart moved off the dust road of the slave camp and onto the cobbled road of the Egyptian east quarter. To either side were the brown rectangular mud- brick built houses of the Egyptians. They each had two large front windows for air and light, but today they were closed and barred. There was no sign of anyone, the doors were all shut fast and the roofs where the children would normally be playing were quiet. The host filed slowly and noisily past. The shadow of the huge wall of the city of Rameses first city in Egypt, home of the Pharaoh, began to run beneath Aaron's wheels. He looked to the huge wall, fifty feet high and made of solid stone. A ten foot wide walkway went all the way round the city, with watchtowers and a parapet on the outside for defence by archers. These walls and watchtowers were abandoned. The huge double doors of the gate were wide open, they were rectangular and made of solid oak which was very rare in Egypt, enforced with huge bronze belts five inches wide, and stretching from one side to the other. They were held in place at intervals with iron rivets six inches wide and hammered nearly flat. The foot of the gates, sat on iron wheels set in rails for opening, three sets of wheels each were needed for these huge and heavy barricades. The inside of the gate was flanked by two massive representations. On the left was the vividly coloured statue of Amoun. The God was wearing a crown with two ostrich plumes, one blue, the other yellow, which reached high above his head. On his chest was a bright red breastplate; he was holding a staff in his right hand. At his feet were depicted a ram and a goose. The statue reached nearly to the top of the gate and the long bearded God, stared accusingly down. On the right was the Pharaoh Rameses. The statue showed him sitting on his throne wearing the two crowns of upper and lower Egypt, to symbolize his complete control of all Egypt. In his hands he was holding the crook and the flail, representing his power over his subjects, on his forehead he was wearing the ureaus, the cobra, ready to attack any who had the temerity to oppose such a powerful King. Aaron watched the snake as he passed. Imagining it striking, he shuddered. In between these imposing statues, defiantly standing on the wall, with the sun silhouetting them and their shadows stretching long into the city, were Aaron's uncles, High Priest Leathig and his brother Jacob. Each man held a long thin staff in his right hand. The orb at the top of each staff was pulsing with a bright white light. The priests were holding their staffs high and concentrating to maintain the force. This force from their God was allowing the people to flee from the Egyptians. Aaron would take his rightful place as King of the Hebrews and with the grace of God would make his people powerful again. Rebuilding, and maintaining their status on this earth, as the chosen people. They would reach the land God had provided for them and living in peace, would be free for all time. The Covenant would be reformed. The shadow of the gate was closing over him and the air sang with the power from Leathig and Jacob's staffs. He expected to see the bricks vibrating. The power was so strong. The long coil of carts, beasts and humanity came through the gate. The people were heading into the desert carrying everything they had. Leathig had instructed them, to steal the gold and jewels of the Egyptians as payment for generations of bondage. This they had done, along with horses and donkeys and all they could carry with them. The people were singing and praising the Creator. Men, women and children, dogs, cats and goats, all manner of creatures bred for milk, beef and mutton, along with chickens for food and eggs. The Hebrew's were heading to claim their own land, a land they would have to conquer, a land of milk and honey, but first they had to escape the Egyptians. They had few weapons and any they had, had been stolen from guards stilled by the power. That power now being used by Jacob, to control and contain the emotions of the soldiers. The same power being used by Leathig to control the minds of the slavers people, who stood around in their houses as if dreaming, staring into space or asleep very deeply in their beds. The Pharaoh was at this moment in his rooms mourning for his dead heir and wishing the Hebrew dogs as far away as possible but these mourning and repellent thoughts would soon change Leathig knew, to overwhelming anger and a desire for revenge. Leathig wanted to get as far away as possible from this place, to make his people go as fast as they could. Joshua Leathig's son, mounted on his black horse had been instructed to lead the host behind the pillar of cloud created as promised by God, showing the route the Hebrews had to follow. This cloud trailed above and behind cooling and shielding the Hebrew host from the hot desert sun. The power gifted by the Creator was all they would need in the desert. They had to, and must, survive. Archived comments for New Freedom Chapter One Andrea on 14-08-2012 New Freedom Chapter ONE. Oh, I read about this somewhere. no that long ago! An Lia FΓ il - see, I knows me Gaelic π Good tale, WFF (but if you do just one thing, please, in very last sentence, put a comma after 'to' and 'must'. It took a a few secs to work out what it meant :)) Author's Reply: Thank You Andrea. As always constructive and diplomatic. I was a wee bit feart tae pit this oan efter the last doin A gote but the critique was the perfect temperature. I have made the perfect changes you suggested. Thanks again Andrea for taking the time to do so. I'm pleased with (Good tale). Weefatfella. whatacutebum on 14-08-2012 New Freedom Chapter ONE. Very interesting WFF. I hope you are going to continue this..... π Author's Reply: Yes I certainly hope so Si. Thank You for your kind words. Weefatfella. Texasgreg on 15-08-2012 New Freedom Chapter ONE. Aye! Good 'un so far. I do get just a bit confused in parts...most likely due to structure. For me, it would be easier to read something this long if structured into paragraphs. Cool story! Keep 'em comin' Duke, .
Greg π Author's Reply: Thanks Greg, As usual you're very kind. I will restructure as suggested. Cheers Mate Weefatfella. niece on 16-08-2012 New Freedom Chapter ONE. Enjoyed reading this, WFF...very visual and entertaining...look forward to more π Regds, niece Author's Reply: Thank you niece that was exactly what I was going for Thank you for your always kind comments. \weefatfella bluepootle on 13-09-2012 New Freedom Chapter ONE. I found myself interested in this tale. A good start to something. I think maybe you need to run your sentences into paragraphs so it flows more easily. Your story really starts at, "The sun had blessed this day with a warm clear light, the shadows as busy as the people. The noise was deafening. "... I'd suggest thinking about cutting everything that goes beforehand. Start with a bit of action and love interest, and work other stuff in later, for a great hook. You're very descriptive in your writing, but I think maybe you overdo it in places. Readers don't need to know every detail. I tend to choose one or two details that are directly relevant to the mood I'm trying to get across, and let the readers fill in height, weight, facial features, clothes, etc. Hope that helps a little bit. I do want to know where it goes next! Author's Reply: I re read and thoroughly agree with you. I still have a problem with the love thang, I really want to refer to it but not to take it too far. My whole idea is the history of the Scottish People and their origins, based on the declaration of Arbroath and the existence of the Stone of destiny.Albeit loosely. |
| The Return of The Stone of Destiny. (posted on: 06-08-12) The Stone of Destiny returned to Scotland after 700 years in exile. How do you show due respect to such a revered and ancient artifact? The Stone Of Destiny. The Abbot looked out the window; it had started to rain reflecting his mood. He'd just had word from a rider that the English had been sighted on the Tay making their way to the Port of Perth. The flotilla of twenty ships with a huge galleon flying the three lions, the royal standard of England, accompanied and escorted by a land force of around fifteen thousand, would travel the 30 miles easily in two days. ''Mcleod, git yir arse in here.'' He could hear the shuffling of the steward's ill-fitting habit brushing the cobbled floor as he made his way in. The door was pushed slowly open as the thin monk answered. ''Yes dear father how may I be of assistance?'' He was the fifth son of the Earl of Fife and as bright as two in the morning. He'd been brought here along with the substantial donation of 1.000 Scot's merks. This was more than enough to maintain, and ensure his presence at the Abbey. The boy had the annoying habit of sniffing while wiping his very long thin and hooked nose with his sleeve; he was doing this as he shuffled into the room. ''Go to Cannon Murdoch, and ask him to come to me immediately, go straight there and not through the kitchens.'' The monk disappeared. The messenger had come from Thomas Randolph Earl of Moray with the warning to keep safe the Stone of Destiny. To remove it from it's plinth on Moot Hill and to get it away from the Abbey, and the hands of Edward Plantagenet. The English had sacked Berwick Upon Tweed. The report said that 17,000 were slaughtered and the Honours of Scotland were now in English hands. Longshanks had come for the stone to establish beyond doubt, that he was overlord of Scotland. There was a knock on the door before it quickly opened. ''Dear Abbot, how may I help?'' ''Never mind that shite James. The English are on the Tay. I've received word from Randolph, we have to preserve the Coronation Stone and replace it with something that looks old and worn but not too dilapidated. Put it on the plinth and get the real stone out of here.'' ''To where?'' ''I don't know...wait, that cave at Dunsinnan. To the east, the one the boy fell in. In there, place it and cover up the shaft with something and make sure you mark it. We don't want to lose the bloody thing.'' Murdoch did as ordered, swapping the real Stone with an old 'distinguished looking' drain cover. He hoped this stone would fool the Sassenachs, albeit it was the wrong size, shape and colour. The original stone, as every Scotsman knows, is black marble with ancient Latin writing carved round the outside, saying. 'Ni fallat fatum, Scoti quocumque locatum Invenient lapidiem, regnasse tenetur ibidem.' 'If the Destiny proves true, then the Scots are known to have been Kings wherever men find this stone.' There is no such inscription on the stone the English stole. Edward 1st, King of England and self-titled Hammer of the Scots, took the drain cover to Westminster, where he commissioned a Coronation Chair to hold it. The English kept this Scottish artefact for seven hundred years. On St Andrews Day, 30th November 1996, 10,000 people lined Edinburgh's Royal Mile to witness the Stone of Destiny return to Scotland. All the Clan Chiefs of Scotland were invited to attend this glorious and historic event. They were asked to treat the occasion with the respect due this ancient Scottish relic, and to dress accordingly, meaning full highland dress. The hierarchy, as far as clans go in Scotland, places the clan McLeod first, and at the ceremony, all would look to McLeod of Mcleod for guidance on how to greet the stone. Clan Chief McLeod was 81 years old and in good health. Like all Chiefs he'd been picked up by limousine that morning and brought to the General Assembly Hall of the Church of Scotland, on the Mound behind Edinburgh's High Street. Where along with every other chief, he was given whisky. Shortly after and before breakfast, he was given more whisky. The chiefs all discussed the coming event over breakfast of porridge and strangely full English, accompanied by more of the amber nectar and were in unanimous agreement. They all would give the returning drain cover the respect due to the original stone, if returning to it's proper home. In what manner that respect would be made apparent, they'd no idea. Everyone decided they would look to old Mcleod for guidance. After being given more malt, they were asked to go outside to greet the coming artefact. The Pipes and drums of the Black Watch could be heard coming up Edinburgh's Royal Mile. Tourists and Scots hoping for a glimpse of the ancient relic returning from exile in England, lined the streets. It was being carried on the back of an army jeep; the significance of this was lost to the BBC and ITV news teams. Why not in a grand carriage with the Royal standard of Scotland proudly flying beside the older Saltire? Escorted by Highlanders dressed in Kilts and wearing claymores, glowering at the tourists as they passed. With the Royal Scots Regiment firing gun salutes every hundred yards to signify its return. This may have happened for Lia-Fail but not for the old drain cover. However, the clan chiefs would keep to the bargain and accord the stone the proper due respect. The front of the castle's esplanade was cordoned off to allow the chiefs space to appreciate the stone and not to have to mingle with the tourists. All looked to McLeod, as the stone approached. Old McLeod dropped suddenly to his knees and touched his forehead to the cobbles. The chiefs, to a man, followed suit. Angus McDonald, two paces downhill from old McLeod, turned his head to see what to do next. Coming slowly down the hill, was a foul smelling liquid, comprised of whisky, bacon fat, baked beans and sausage. Which was flowing, floating and rolling towards him, making its inexorable way between the cobbles. It was the contents of old McLoed's stomach; he'd passed out creating the precedent for greeting the Stone of Destiny. Archived comments for The Return of The Stone of Destiny. niece on 06-08-2012 The Return of The Stone of Destiny. A nice twist, WFF...I'm assuming that parts of this story are true (if not all of it) as it's listed in faction...a fun read...:) Regds, niece Author's Reply: Most of it is true. The rest is what if. Enjoyed this myself ,it never ceases to amaze me how these stories of mine seem to write themselves.Thanks niece. Texasgreg on 07-08-2012 The Return of The Stone of Destiny. Aye, Duke! Been lookin' fer the ancient rock of a hard place, myself... Been tryin' to take time to look at more lengthy pieces than poetry as of late and glad I have. You're always a fun read. 
Greg π Author's Reply: Aye cheers Greg.Glad you had a laugh. SugarMama34 on 09-08-2012 The Return of The Stone of Destiny. An interesting piece with some good humor woven through it. I enjoyed the read π I guessed some of this is fact, which I liked and found compelling. I guess the whisky may have had a part in the stream of cooked breakfast lol. The only thing that stood out to me in this would be the lines; The boy had the annoying habit of sniffing while wiping his very long thin and hooked nose with his sleeve, he was doing this as he shuffled in to the room. Would you really need to tell the reader that it was a habit? Maybe just show what he is doing instead. I hope you don't mind me mentioning it. Sorry for the late reply, been busy here in the house and now is the only time I have managed to have a bit of peace to read your submission and comment. Lis. x Author's Reply: Thanks Lis, I was looking for depth in the story and the Character. Trying to evoke the way of life in the Abbey; Attempting to create an ongoing relationship between this guy and the Abbott . The habit, combined with the price his father paid to keep him in the Abbey along with the way the Abbott treated him, I believed did this. I'm new I can learn. Thanks for your Comments and critique. SugarMama34 on 09-08-2012 The Return of The Stone of Destiny. Oh and Congratulations on the nomination π Fab stuff π x Author's Reply: Oh sorry I missed this. thank you once again.Lis . Weefatfella. |
| Trapped. (posted on: 03-08-12) Two Mining Villagers bemoan the small gene pool of their Village while trapped in a mine cave-in. My Winning piece for 1st of July weekly challenge set by Bradene. "Goad 'A'm Hungry, whit A wid dae furra a16 0z steak wi aw the trimmings, onion rings and chips, aw that's whit a could go right noo," Charlie mused. "Right, Ma turn, Cottage pie wi cabbage, loads ae cabbage, wi a salty broon gravy', said Davy smacking his lips. The lamp flickered again, the pit walls could be seen seeping with water, running down to pour away in a stream six inches wide. They had been trapped for two days, the roof had collapsed sealing them in and one of the lamps had gone out, the other was weakening. The sound of the mine rescue guys could be heard drilling and boring, getting reassuringly closer, cheering the trapped miners. "Right fur yir sweet noo?" "Eh,Profiteroles." "Prowhitaroles?" "Profiteroles, its choux pastry wi chocolate pasted oan wan side and served wi cream, it's magic." "It wid huvtae be magic, pastry fae a shoe, fur fuck sake, Davy. How can yie git pastry fae a shoe?" "It's no shoe pastry, it's choux pastry, C.H.O.U.X it's French, ya fuckin wahoo, huv you never left Pumpherston?" "Aye, A went tae Ayr wance, tae the seaside, aw Davy, A hud never seen the sea, it's absolutely mahoosive man". "When A seen that big body Ae water, A wanted tae be a sailor. A sailor oan a big boat goin all over the world, a girl in every port, that wid be me." "Ha, Yie wid need tae git an awffie lot ae port intae a lassie afore she wid go wi you ya ugly bastard," said Davy, as he punched Charlie on the leg. "Ugly is it? Yir no sae braw yirsell." "A'll huv yie know ma Mammie says A'm good looking." "Well goin wi the look ae yir Faither, she's nae Judge." "Aye true, ma auld Da's goat a face like a cat's arse. Mind yie, your Maw, fuck sake, your Maw, whit a face." "We need mare new genes intae this village, we're aw ugly bastards." Just at that, the face of a mine rescuer peered in from the blockage. "See whit a mean, whit an ugly bastard he is." Archived comments for Trapped. TheBigBadG on 03-08-2012 Trapped. First off, couple of rogue capitals/spaces and you need an apostrophe in 'were aw ugly bastards'. The odd couple thing works really well though. There's something about the accent you use which really lends itself to these short comic scenes too. You get the sense that the conversation has been going on long before the cave in and will last long after. It means you can make genuine and plausible yarns very efficiently. All very enjoyable. George Author's Reply: Thanks George. Pleased you enjoyed it. I've an awffie bother wie punctuation. Appreciate the critique. Andrea on 03-08-2012 Trapped. You'll be delighted to know that I'm not going to bang on about punctuation again π Loved it! Had me in stitches (hope it was meant to!). Accent a little bit tricky initially, but I got into it quickly, which is saying something for such a short piece. All in all, as George says, a really enjoyable and funny (in the nicest sense) read. I'd have given you a 9 is it wasn't for yer...er....ahem...y'know π Author's Reply: Andrea, Thanks again. One of these days I'll git it bang-oan. Anither nib. Ya belter, feel great when I get wan ae thame. Thank you very much for your Critique. Nomenklatura on 03-08-2012 Trapped. Yep, the accent works well and I can recall many conversations like it when I've been north of the border visiting relatives! Author's Reply: Thanks Nom. Much appreciated. cooky on 03-08-2012 Trapped. Lovely write and the accent gave the scene a quality, which transcends the werite. I like this. Author's Reply: Thanks Cooky. Appreciate you taking the time to read and comment. niece on 04-08-2012 Trapped. Did struggle with the dialect a bit...was worth the struggle though...absolutely hilarious...:D !!! Regds, niece Author's Reply: Thanks Niece. pleased you enjoyed it. I loved the egg. Greatest felicitations Weefatfella. Texasgreg on 05-08-2012 Trapped. Started out makin' me hungry! Havenβt taken the time for a steak for weeks now. I guess "ugly" is a relative term...meaning if your relatives are ugly, you're probably screwed, LOL. -joke- Good job, Duke! Greg π Author's Reply: Thanks Greg. I enjoyed this one myself, it just popped out, as the Bishop said to........ ValDohren on 17-09-2012 Trapped. Great write - took me a while to get to grips with the dialect, but very funny stuff LOL !! Struck me as being an archetypal kinda conversation ! Author's Reply: Sorry it's taken me so long Val.I'm losing it Thank you for your kind comments and for taking the time to do so. |
| Shooting Banditos. (posted on: 03-08-12) Get off your horse and drink your milk. There he is, just behind that cactus. I could see the shadow of his sombrero on the hot sand covered earth, giving away his location. I couldn't get a shot in from here, which meant neither could he. I removed my Sheriff star. Any reflected flash from the sun would give me away and could get me killed. I tucked my Winchester rifle into my chest and rolled from the boulder shielding me, along the hot sand and into the shelter of another large rock. Rattle-rattle, hissssisss, the snake warned,the rattlers head was up, it's two eyes focused intently on me while the tail vibrated, shaking quickly from side to side, it's forked tongue slipping in and out threateningly between two very large pointed fangs. It was large for a rattler one bite and I was a goner. I used the rifle butt, slamming down hard on it's head stunning it, then drawing my Bowie knife I cut off it's head. I carefully threw the head away and stuffed the carcase into my pants. There's good eating in a rattler. Peering out from my hiding place I called. 'Give it up Sebastion, you've only four shots left, come back with me, Judge Goodfellow will hear you straight, he's a good man. you know it makes sense'. No reply. Sebastion, had escaped from my office this morning. He'd jumped Kincaid my Deputy when he brought breakfast to his cell. After stealing his gun, he pistol whipped him and stole his horse. I'd chased him into this dead-end. I'd been counting the shots. A colt 45 holds six rounds and he'd shot twice. As the bandit tried to run up the hill, the noise of the rolling screed and subsequent dustcloud betrayed his whereabouts. He was running scared now, climbing and scratching his way up the hill, dodging from side to side, I raised my rifle sighting on a large boulder ten feet in front of him. I fired. The crack loud in the silence echoed all around. The bullet struck the rock above the Mexican and a thin plume of dust rose straight up in the dry air. The bandido dived, hitting the ground he turned and fired twice as he slid back down the hill,desperate shots, nowhere near me. The dust and pebbles followed as he slid down behind another large boulder. Two shots left. I ran crouched, to another hiding place and slid in behind the boulder raising dust of my own as i attempted to out flank him. I scanned the area poking my head slowly round, rock particles stung my face, I ducked quickly,that was close. One bullet left. I climbed up the side of the sharp jagged rock, with that last shot Sebastion had given himself away again. I reached the top and could see him just behind the boulder, breathing heavily, more through fear than exertion. Taking careful aim I fired. The bandit kicked then lay still, blood oozed from his chest his sombrero flew up, spinning into the air, Sebastion, bandido, comanchero and outlaw leader lay dead. I raised my rifle and pumped it into the air while shouting at the top of my voice 'Yee-haaa' . I twirled the repeater round in a circle re-cocking it and fired again. I climbed down from the roof of the garden shed, I was seven and a darned good shot. Then I heard my Fathers voice. He had been watching me from an upstairs window. 'Away ya stupid bugger that you are, git in the hoose and stope acting like an eejit, go on away in and behave yirsell'. Embarrassed, I slunk in through the back door. Archived comments for Shooting Banditos. Andrea on 04-08-2012 Shooting Bandidos. May I make a couple of suggestions? First of all, you could contract more, as I think it reads more smoothly. For instance 'I had' could be 'I'd, 'he had' could be 'he'd' and so on. You do it sometimes and not others. Consistency my dear WFF π Also, I don't think you need '...repeating rifle' after 'Winchester' as most people know it's a...er...repeating rifle' π At the most 'repeater' would do, I think. 'Betraying dust cloud' is a bit clumsy imo. How about something like 'as the bandit ran up the hill, a dustcloud betrayed his whereabouts'? Well, you get my meaning π Taking careful aim I fired. The bandit kicked then lay still, blood oozed from his chest his sombrero flew up, spinning into the air ,Sebastion, bandido, comanchero and outlaw leader lay dead... Taking careful aim, I fired. The bandit kicked, then lay still. Blood oozed from his chest. His sombrero flew up, spinning into the air. Sebastion, bandido, comanchero and outlaw leader lay dead. I hope you don't mind my suggestions (and they are suggestions only) but you do tell a bloody good yarn (and are coming on in leaps and bounds), but correct use of the dreaded punctuation, can improve it a hundredfold, and it would be such a shame if people are put off because of it. I, for one, thought it a great little piece, and I didn't even see the ending coming! Author's Reply: Thank you Andrea for taking the time to help. I know I need it and I take it on board. I want to be all I can be , as I'm enjoying this tremendously. The critique is always diplomatically done and I fully appreciate it. I need to be fair to myself and the writing. I am trying (very). Thank you again. I have taken your excellent advice and I agree, the piece reads better. If I'm allowed to be cheeky, no one spotted the heading (get off your horse and drink your milk) that was a clue to my intent. Thanks Andrea. Texasgreg on 05-08-2012 Shooting Bandidos. Duke, 
Aye! The simple Texan was too caught up in the yarn to notice the above. I'll give you some hints-A colt .45, (also known as long colt, which is what I happen to carry for everyday use), is much larger than a .45 acp and holds 5 rounds as result. If given time, a bad guy...or good guy, will reload to throw off the opponent. All rattlers have parasites, so be sure to cook thoroughly. Your story gave me a real good grin and hope to see more of the sort. Love your inner-boy's imagination. .
Greg π Here a picture to show you size of Colt .45 vs. other loads. 
P.S. I use a 9mm for backup in case I'm assaulted by a little feller...-joke- Do carry depending on where I'm going, though. 
This is mine- .45 colt, (long colt), 2" snub nose. No, I'm not a freak. Just an average Texan... Hard to tell size of round as I reduced picture size for viewing, but note round vs. length of hand grip which accomodates an adult man's hand. Know I've edited my response a few times now, but be patient w/me, LOL. It is Bandito, BTW. Yes, I noticed the "Get off yer horse and drink yer milk" right away. That's what got my attention. Author's Reply: Thank the Lord I contacted you........I was supposed to go and get part of my arse removed due to severe itching. After reading your advice on Rattlers and their parasites, I located a magnifying mirror and spotted the bastards. There they were setting up house in my unfortunates. One was so big he was smoking a cigar and drinking whisky. With file, gas burner and illuminated tweezers, I got rid of the buggers. Thank the Lord I'm double Jointed. ___________________________________- Greg, I would be terrified to own a gun. I've a rotten temper and would have shot some fucker long before now if I owned one. Thanks for the gen on photos I will have a go at some point. |
| The Grey Lady Of Caputhall. (posted on: 30-07-12) A lost tale of wanton lust both sexual and vengeful. Duncan Campbell looked from behind a chestnut tree along the mist shrouded Bangour Road, he was still a good distance behind. The Autumn mist coming from the Forth hid him, as he sneaked behind the young woman.She held the empty reins of two Irish deer-hounds in her hands, which she playfully swung in time to her quiet crooning of what Campbell took to be a Highland love song. It was the seductive swaying of her enticing hips that drew Campbell to be here this late afternoon. He was intent on having this wench, whether she wanted him or not. Last evening at dinner, he watched as Jeannie, dressed in a very low cut gown, revealing her ample and mobile bosom, danced and cavorted with The Prince,laughing and curtsying, while swinging and thrusting her hips provocatively,showing off her ample charms. At one point, when she thought no one was watching, he watched, as she adjusted her clothing, pulling down her dress and adjusting it,to lift her bosom, revealing more of her charms. 'She was a harlot' he thought to himself, 'a slut with ambition, ambition that would get her no where'. The Young Pretender, Charles Edward Stuart, was only toying with her and would bed her, and shed her, as the Aristocracy always did.She was only the daughter of a Highland Laird and no prize for a future King Of Britain but he would tame her ,he would have her soft voluptuous and willing body writhing below him, he would be her Prince. The hounds barked playfully and ran on into the mist, only to turn back when Jeannie McGregor, daughter of Gregor McGregor Chief of that Clan and Earl Of Alpine called them. The dogs had done well Yesterday and had helped to bring down two massive five pointed stags and three large boar for last nights dinner. The McGregor's had played a vital part in the victory at Prestonpans against the Hanoverians and The Young Pretender, wishing to honour her Father, had asked for his company on this important visit to Bathgate, the original seat of the Royal House of Stuart. Jeannie her father's only daughter, never left his side. Now three weeks later at Caputhall or Deans House, the home of well known Jacobite, George Holmes Norval, Baron of Caputhall, Jeannie, unaware of her follower, called the dogs to run and herself chased after.She turned right and ran downhill towards the bridge at Drumcross, her red hair long and wavy, flowed behind her.Suddenly, from nowhere, a stag jumped high in front of her clearing the path and disappearing with a crack of branches into the forest. The well trained dogs caught the scent and chased noisily and at speed after the deer, running into the trees and away. Jeannie stopped, she knew she had no chance of following them,so she continued to walk now, downhill to the bridge. The dogs would chase the deer till tired and with no one to kill the beast or spur them on, they would soon return to Deans and their place at the fireside. Campbell sneered to himself. He had routed the beast when he tried to cut the corner to get in front of Jeannie. While cutting through the trees he had startled the deer and much to his amazement the stag, by taking the dogs away, had solved a major problem for him, making his task easier. The Lord he now knew was on his side. He watched with excitement rising, he could feel his heart pounding. His breathing getting heavier. Jeannie wasn't turning back even though darkness was falling. She continued on down towards the bridge, still crooning and sometimes skipping, he could see her hips still swaying and her full breasts heaving beneath her clothing.He smiled in anticipation. Campbell followed hidden by the twilight and the close trees, covered now in a grey wet mist. At the bridge, she stopped and leaned on the parapet with both hands, looking down to the fast flowing stream. Now was his chance. He stepped out from cover, 'Hello Jeannie, a cold night for a beautiful wench like yourself to be out alone, aren't you afraid someone might try to do you harm?' I,-- I wasn't alone, she blurted, 'I had the dogs with me but they ran off after a deer, they'll return soon Sir,-- Blackie, Sharky, here boy's, come bye,'she called. He pounced, grabbing her arm and twisting it behind her back, Jeannie was strong ,she began to turn towards him, he could smell her sweet perfume and could feel her hot breath warm on his ear. He twisted with all his strength bringing her arm round behind her and bending her over the bridge-side, he could feel her firm buttocks beneath her clothing,as he pushed her arm higher she cried out in pain. 'stop, stop, what do you want? Let me go' she pleaded but when Campbell, his breath coming fast and with what she could feel pushing now behind her and when he licked her cheek and bit her ear, Jeannie became terrified, she slumped in dire fear. Campbell threw her to the ground tearing her dress and after forcing her legs apart, he roughly and mercilessly violated her. When the deed was done, he guiltily helped her to her feet. Jeannie was very quiet, her head hung low and she was sobbing. Turning on him suddenly, she swung her dirk towards Campbell, who being a hardened veteran of many cattle raids and street fights caught her wrist and disarmed her easily. He turned the long knife against her, grabbing her long hair, he bent her head back and drew the sharp knife across her throat, the blood spilled over her bosom and the light of life left her beautiful green eyes. She fell over the side of the bridge and a slap was heard as she hit the water ten feet below. Duncan jumped after the body, he landed lightly in the fast but shallow water and dragged Jeannie's corpse to the side, where in the soft wet mud and shingle, he quickly buried her. Campbell was part of the young Pretender's army, he carefully walked back to Deans house and entered the kitchen. lying warm next to the blazing log fire were the two dogs, still steaming from their chase and licking their nether regions, oblivious of the fate of the woman who lay beneath Drumcross Bridge, their names still on her dead lips. Much was made of Jeannie's disappearance but with no clues to what happened and the army being short of time had to move on and Campbell went with it, onto Culloden Moor where he met his death by musket shot. Jeannie was a restless corpse and would make herself known in her own time. That time came one year later. Rab Singleton, resurrectionist and long carriage-man, greased the cast-iron gate of the churchyard and looked up toward the Livingston Inn, the candles burned brightly inside the windows and drunken singing could be heard from within. The door was tightly closed against the chill October night, he scanned the road for watchers and seeing no-one, continued about his dirty business. He had already unlocked the old padlock and needed to open the gate quietly, as it was so close to the Inn he didn't want to attract attention or to be seen going into the graveyard at this time of night. He opened the gate slowly, drawing it back and forth to work the Goose-fat. It moved easily and most importantly silently, he closed the gate and returned to his cart. The Horse had been unhitched and left hidden half a mile away in a copse on the side of the Almond River, in the care of his accomplice, Albert Scrymgoure and his one-eyed Jack Russell dog Cyclops. Rab Singleton, was commonly Known as Goliath, because of his tremendous size. He was six foot seven inches tall, with huge and wide shoulders, his hands were twice the size of a normal man and he had a vile temper and an even worse reputation. His head was massive with a neanderthal brow and a long hooked nose, set above a full set of long black beard and mustache. The giant carrying a long handled shovel and two hemp sacks, returned to the gate and entered silently into the Graveyard. The night was dark and visibility was poor, ideal circumstances for this macabre business. He stopped at a newly filled grave and began removing the earth. His practiced technique gaining him quick access to the prize below. When he reached the coffin he stepped into the grave and using the side of the shovel he levered off the lid, he threw the shovel onto the edge and leaning into the coffin slid his hands underneath the body and lifted it easily. He put the body in the sack and after throwing it quickly and easily over his shoulder, the ghoul carried it to the cart and placed it gently inside. Damage to the body would reduce its worth. He returned to the open grave and filled it in. He resurrected another body and with both bodies stowed, he pushed the cart out of sight and covered it with branches, hiding it, until he returned with the horse and his accomplices. Half an hour later Goliath and his two partners with their gruesome cargo, headed along the Deans road, passing Tailend Loch, bound for Holy Robins Inn, where they intended to spend the night, before heading on to Edinburgh's College of Surgeons in the morning. A light rain was falling as they headed through the Chestnut and Hawthorn trees lining the old Salters road leading to Drumcross. As they turned onto Drumcross road, Cyclops started to yelp and bark, he was clearly afraid,his tail was between his legs and he was pushing himself against Goliath's leg looking for comfort. A sharp slap across the ribs and a flick of the giants hand throwing the dog hard against one of the sacks was all the comfort it was going to get. 'Be still ya mutt' yelled Goliath,' wheesht yir yelping or you'll go in the sack wi the deid, cos that's what you'll be DEID'. The dog knew to be quiet he had suffered Goliath's anger before, Scrymgoure remained silent as always. As they approached the bridge, strange blue lights seemed to float and fly silently through the air, appearing at random, some quickly and some very slowly, like bats or birds swooping, now hovering, before shooting off into the sky. The three sat in the cart transfixed by this light show which began to dissipate leaving suddenly to reveal, a woman, very thin and dressed in white. She turned her head towards them, the air chilled and a strange green mist began to swirl slowly around her. The apparition had pale grey features with deep sunken eyes, her thin wispy hair clung to her skull, sticking to the long open wound round her neck, which still seeped with dark blood, which was being absorbed into an old satin dress hanging loosely from her thin skeletal shoulders. The lady raised her hand and pointed at the two men saying in a very guttural voice, 'Yie have corpses in your cart i see, and yie have plenty room for another. Below this bridge my mortal remains lie. disinter me and deliver my bones to the grave of my Father Gregor McGregor, Earl of Alpine, who lies with my two brothers, all killed fighting a lost cause at Culloden and yie shall have this ring'. She lifted her left hand to show a large gold ring with a cross of diamonds protruding from a bed of emeralds, easily worth enough to pay for what she was asking. Goliath terrified, stared at the ring and imagined its worth and even though afraid, he began to nod his head in acceptance of the wraiths request. The ghost floated towards the cart, her hand outstretched, she stopped very close, Goliath could smell the scent of the grave from her, a scent he knew only too well. He opened his palm and the specter dropped the 'payment' into his hand and was gone. The night was silent and the rain fell lightly on Goliaths face, he lifted his hand to wipe the water away but it wouldn't open, the hand holding the ring was closed tightly as if cramping, he had to concentrate hard before he was able to eventually open the hand allowing him to wipe his brow and bring himself to his senses. Shaking, he wrapped the ring in his filthy handkerchief and put it inside his coat pocket. The dog whimpered and crawled below the sacks in the rear, Scrymgoure was trembling and tears were running down his face. 'Go', screamed Scrymgoure, get us off this accursed bridge'. Goliath snapped the reins, the horse pulled too quickly, his hooves slipping on the wet road before the cart lurched forward and up the long tree covered hill to the Bangour Road and sanctuary at Holy Robins Inn. They ran the cart into the stables at the back, quickly unhitched the horse and closed him into a stall, then after covering the cart with a tarpaulin,they composed themselves and walked into the Inn. A log fire was blazing in the fireplace, an old Gaberlunzie ( Storyteller and licensed beggar ) dressed in his obligatory thick blue coat, was stoking the flames with an iron bar. The room was smoky and dimly lit with candles and reeking oil-lamps. Thick wooden stools and benches sat beside roughly carved tables, occupied by shadowed drinkers, who lowered their clay pipes and stared bright eyed at the newcomers. The eight or so drinkers filled the small room. The Landlord, James Ferguson, looked the two weathered men over with a knowing eye, 'Goliath and Scrymgoure, whit brings you two grave-robbing bastards intae my premises this late in the night'? Goliath stared the big man down and answered, ' whit dae yie think we want here in this rat infested shite-hole? make it a tankard of guid ale for a start, then maybe a flea infested bed, like the last time I slept in this stinking hovel. I've been scratching a new hole for my arse ever since'. This was said as he and Scrymgoure sat themselves in a space made available by men who moved away from them, turning their backs and moving closer to the fire not wanting to be in their company. Cyclops growled at an old collie sheepdog which rose and cowered away with head held low, allowing him access to the better spot at the fireside. Ferguson came from behind his bar saying, 'I have one room at the back Yi'll huv tae share wi that gibberin idiot there at the fire' pointing at the Gaberlunzie, as he slid two foaming battered tankards of ale onto the table. Goliath dropped three Scot's merks, the landlord scooped them up and walked back behind the bar. The Gaberlunzie removed his long pipe from his mouth, cleared his throat and spat into the flames. Later in the back room the old storyteller spoke up, 'Goliath, I have been dragging this auld frame alang the roads for many years and I know a frightened face when I see it, you two, when you came in here the night, had that look, did something happen on the way here'? 'Shut-up and go tae sleep ya smelly auld bastard or I'll put you to sleep forever, Yir bodies auld but still worth a shilling tae people I know and they widnae ask me where it came from'. The Gaberlunzie, well practiced at wheedling out tales from people, persevered at great risk but his age may have helped him and before the night had gone, he was in possession of all the gruesome and terrifying details. Details which would keep him in beer and bed for sometime to come. The tale of The Grey Lady as he called it, was told in every way-house and Inn from Glasgow to Edinburgh. Singleton sold the ring for a good price, the money from the sale being enough to set him up in business, selling milk and eggs around the Lothians, which he did for five years. One night he was delivering eggs to Dechmont a village close to Drumcross, on the way back he dropped in to Holy Robins Inn. He hadn't been near the Inn since that fateful night, and as he stepped over the threshold, the Landlord recognizing him, called out. 'Well here we are boys, this monstrosity that's walked in the door, is none other than the famous Goliath, I say famous, because maist men only go into a grave once, this evil bastard standing before you, is in and oot mair often than a randy buggerers bell-end'. The men sniggered and stared at the newcomer expecting a response. Goliath glared at Ferguson and after spitting on the floor, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. He could hear the laughter behind the closed door. Angrily he jumped into his cart, he whipped the reins hard and the horse pulled quickly away, trotting along the Bangour road and before he noticed what he was doing, he was heading down the hill to Drumcross bridge and darkness had fallen,- too quickly. The cart approached the bridge, the blue lights again appeared swirling and pulsing, flying here and there fascinating Singleton. Standing in the middle of the bridge cloaked in a green mist was the Grey Lady. She seemed to Goliath more solid than before, more intimidating and her face was angry. 'Ah you have the nerve to return to me Goliath, bold you are for a grave robbing coward. Come ' she said. She raised her bony arm and crooked her finger, the cart without the need of the horse or the wheels to turn, drew silently nearer to the angry wraith. Goliath stared at the horse, it seemed to be asleep but still they drew nearer and nearer, stopping level with the keystone of the bridge and right in front of the corpse that was Jeannie McGregor. She floated silently, her eyes never leaving his, and stopped at Goliath's side of the cart. He couldn't move, he was paralysed with fear and he could feel a cold sweat on his forehead. The Ghost leaned in to the face of the frightened resurrectionist and said, 'You made a pact with me to take my bones from here to Culloden. You took this ring', she held her hand up to his face, the diamond and emerald ring had miraculously reappeared on her finger. She suddenly, and with great strength, grabbed his head with her right hand while pushing the ring hard into his left temple. ' I lay a curse on you Robert Singleton, you will not last the year, your evil ways will deliver you to the Hell-fire that awaits you. Goliath awoke at dawn, he was still sitting in the cart which hadn't moved since Jeannie had stopped it in the middle of the bridge, he gathered himself and shivering badly, he made his sorry way the three miles to Bathgate. He went home, but as he entered his house, his wife Morag asked ' Rab, where have you been? I was worried and what has happened to your face? what is that welt on the side of your head? A deep red cross was impressed into his left temple, the exact shape of the diamonds from the ring, this 'mark of death' put there by the Grey Lady, stayed on his head for weeks, before eventually disappearing. Four months later Goliath had taken to the bottle, his business and his marriage suffered badly and he had gotten heavily into debt. As a last resort, Singleton in dire need of quick money, had resorted to his old profession of resurrectionism. He left the house and after two days he hadn't returned,Morag informed the village factor, who sent men out to search for him. Aware of his past life they searched the cemetery. There they found him lying below a large and heavy headstone. Goliath had been removing a body from it's resting place, when the wet soil had slipped, the stone toppled onto the hapless resurrectionist, killing him instantly. When the stone was lifted off Goliath's head, a deep red welt corresponding with a carved cross on the headstone, could be seen exactly on the place the mark was placed by the Grey Lady's diamond and emerald ring. Jeannie at last had justice. Archived comments for The Grey Lady Of Caputhall. Andrea on 30-07-2012 The Grey Lady Of Caputhall. What happened to this, WFF?? Author's Reply: That's it now ....sorry. Well it is a ghost story woooooooo. Andrea on 30-07-2012 The Grey Lady Of Caputhall. Oh, it seems to have re-appeared - how ghostly! Author's Reply: Thanks Andrea. Whoopeee a nib Ya belter...............love it. niece on 01-08-2012 The Grey Lady Of Caputhall. WFF, this was absolutely amazing...well told...at 3000+ words, there was nothing superflous...excellent story-telling indeed... Regds, niece Author's Reply: Why Thank You Maam. I'm Honoured. Texasgreg on 03-08-2012 The Grey Lady Of Caputhall. Aye! Weren't too much extra stuff either, Duke...LOL
Super stuff! .
Greg π Author's Reply: Thanks Greg. That Logo is nearly as good as the egg. Fair chuffed. BATEMAN on 19-10-2012 The Grey Lady Of Caputhall. A good read Weetatfella, was expecting more at the end though:( (sorry). xxx Author's Reply:
Thank you for taking the time to read and even more to comment. I agree with you about the ending but facts are facts. Weefatfella.xx Weefatfella on 19-10-2012 The Grey Lady Of Caputhall.
Thank you for taking the time to read and even more to comment. I agree with you about the ending but facts are facts. Weefatfella.xx Author's Reply: |
| Jump For Joy. (posted on: 23-07-12) A night at The Hole Int wall in Bowness Winderemere.  I opened the back door of old Bessie my black 3 litre Avantgarde Mercedes Benz. The leather of the seats filled my nostrils, I love that smell. After placing the small case on the seat, I picked up the haversack containing the' lubrication'. A bottle of Bacardi, a bottle of Smirnoff, two bottles of Sauvignon blanc for the Sweetness and a bottle of diet cola for mixing. I secured this important piece of luggage on the floor behind the passenger seat for safety. I walked round, opened the drivers door and slipped into my favourite seat in all the world. I smiled at the ' Target button' on the bonnet and inserted Chuck Berry's greatest hits into the CD player. Just as chuck spotted Nadine, the Sweetness climbed in beside me and put her handbag on the floor at her feet, after popping a bag of kettle crisps on the consul next to the automatic gearbox, she carefully placed her shades while checking the vanity mirror, she flicked her fringe and said ' right, let's go'. Off we went. Off the M8, I indicated left at the roundabout at the bottom of Boab's Brae and joined the M74 for Carlisle. Theresa changed the CD for Neil Diamond's The Jazz Singer and 'love On The Rocks' took us along the M74 at an easy 80mph. I selected cruise control and ate a kettle crisp. Utopia. We entered England just over an hour later and started the same old panic when passing Lake District signs, North Lakes, South Lakes, Kendal, Morecambe, ' Keep going you haven't missed it,' I told myself. Then after what always seems a long time, here it is, Kirby Lonsdale. Cruise control off, indicate left up the hill to the roundabout, turn right: Windermere 16miles, 'Ya belter, wont be long now'. Onto the Brantfell Road in Bowness, sharp turn left into the Royal Oak car park and check into the pre-booked room 10. Room 10 in the royal Oak, has a large bay window and as seating for breakfast is tight, the pub will serve breakfast to that room. I always book ahead as I enjoy the breakfast in my own time, at the window. We unpacked, poured a drink and sat looking out the window before wandering up the street for lunch. Back in the room later, I had a wee kip while The Sweetness watched Emmerdale and fixed her barnett. I showered and dressed and after a coupla wee Bacardi's, we wandered out and into The Hole int Wall. Old blue and white floral patterned ceramic potties and pewter tankards hang from the oak roof beams. The old bar is thick oak with bar towels scattered here and there to catch the drips of one of my favourite beers Hartley's XB. Various animal heads of deer and boar stare down accusingly from the walls. A boastful and proudly caught large dried fish, is framed above two ferrets fighting in a glass cage. The seating is old but serviceable and comfortable. I ordered a pint and a large glass of Sauvignon for the Sweetness. We sat near the back to enable us to see all that was going on, I drew deeply on the XB, the wonderful cool soothing ale slipped down easily, as Stan The Man, the famous Lake District guitar player and all round entertainer, pushed his way through the door. Obviously struggling while carrying too much gear. I jumped up and held the door to help him. 'Oh hello, how are you'? He said and 'thank you', ' I'm Fine Stan, can I help?' 'No it's fine, I'll manage, will you give us a song later'? He asked. 'Oh no I don't think so' I answered, embarrassed. I have a rather bad habit of singing while in my cups, some say I'm not half bad, while others just smile condescendingly. The Sweetness and me visit the Lake District often and have become known by some of the drinking fraternity. I had no intention of singing that night, but then again, it was early. The atmosphere in the pub was comfortable. Stan had fired up his guitar and his not too bad voice, was crooning the 'Eagles, Peaceful Easy Feeling' which managed to just be heard above the low hum of quiet conversation. The lighting was dim but easy, and a quiet contentment filled the room. I was on my fifth pint of XB. The bar was pleasantly filled with like minded topers. A vision materialised inside the door. It was Joy. She had long straight blonde hair reaching down to her very thin waist. She was nearly wearing, a long silk dress, tight fitting, thankfully, very tight fitting, tailored and with a low cut front, showing her remarkable buoyant and gravity defying breasts, which didn't jiggle they shook, and I'm certain the right breast winked at me. Joy hadn't quite recovered from the chilly April evening which was joyously evident. She stepped into the room swaying, her athletic thighs, were revealed through the long slit of her dress, high up, showing a hint of suspender belt and stocking top. Her coat was draped over her shoulders, and draped down to below her firm bottom, each round buttock, making its presence known, by thrusting at the coat, every alternate step. Joy, her head held confidently high, wiggled toward Stan, her lucky lover. Every step a seduction. As she neared him, she stopped near a pillar, she didn't remove her coat, she disrobed, letting the coat slip from her shoulders and on purpose dropped it. As she bent straight- backed, to pick up the coat, the silk of her dress, caressed her perfectly shaped buttocks, slipping in between her cheeks, perfectly framing the firm round spheres and falling seductively into the crevasse. There was no evidence of panties. She hooked the coat on the pillar and glided toward Stan. After kissing the air beside his cheek, she pirouetted toward the bar, where the barman handed her a prearranged long fluted wine glass. Joy, holding the elegant wine filled glass twirled and placed those amazing buttocks on a tall bar stool, where she continued to pose for all. I took another draft of XB and got up to speak to her. I couldn't control myself the devil made me do it. It must be some kind of jealousy I was suffering from. Maybe she was too much in control of the whole room and even though I admired her, along with every other man in that place I had to do it. I stood beside her at the bar and said-- 'excuse me dear, you wont have noticed, but you've stood in shite. Archived comments for Jump For Joy. lallylello on 23-07-2012 Jump For Joy. Made me laugh out loud! I love your turn of phrase, makes for very easy reading. I am a fully paid up member of the Punctuation Police, though, and I do think you need to tame your commas: they like to turn up at random which breaks the flow. Also, there was a lack of close speech marks so it was hard to tell when the speech ended. Very funny, though. I look forward to reading more of your stuff. Lally Author's Reply: Thanks Lyle I'm afraid I'm not very good at punctuation. I try though. Thanks for your comments they are appreciated and I definitely need the critique. Andrea on 24-07-2012 Jump For Joy. Hahaha, you may not be all that in the comma department, but you certainly know how to tell a tale! Much enjoyed! Author's Reply: Thanks Andrea, I really have to knuckle down and nail that punctuation thing. Texasgreg on 24-07-2012 Jump For Joy. I didn't know what you were talking about in terms of lubrication, but I think you may have done that subconsciously unless you always use that term. π Playin' with ya, Duke. Can I say funny fantasy? Sure I can! .
Greg π Author's Reply: Cheers Greg. appreciated. Chastheone on 26-07-2012 Jump For Joy. That was a funny tale but I concur about the lack of punctuation in some instances and overdoing it in others because it makes it difficult for myself and people like me to read with the proper rhythm thus spoiling the narrative effect if you get my meaning which is a shame because you have some great stories to tell. π Chastheone. Author's Reply: This, with a critique with no punctuation whatsoever. OK. Thank You for your input. Chastheone on 26-07-2012 Jump For Joy. So you got the irony! π Author's Reply: niece on 30-07-2012 Jump For Joy. π Enjoyed the story, especially the ending...someone had to tell her, afterall... Regds, niece Author's Reply: Aye,Pride comes before a fall appreciate the comment. Thank You. shadow on 10-03-2013 Jump For Joy. Well, this gave me a laugh and no mistake. What is it about women called Joy? Loved the description -'nearly wearing a long silk dress'. Author's Reply:
I got to know Joy and her lucky lover Stan the man. As far as I know they still frequent the pubs in Bowness. A nice couple, and Joy still loves herself. Weefatfella. |
| Angus Ogg Lord Of the Isles. (posted on: 15-06-12) A Worldwide precedent. Angus Ogg McDonald Chief of Clan McDonald, sat in front of the huge fireplace in the great hall of Inverlochy Castle, warming himself and quietly contemplating. He was pleased, it had been a good harvest and the Clan had plentiful supplies of root vegetables, wheat, oats and barley stored away and soon most of the cattle would be slaughtered and salted for beef through the coming season. The clansmen were at this moment, rounding up the beasts to bring them to Inverlochy, for just that purpose. A long wailing low note was heard, followed by another two. Angus jumped up and opening the door, was met by his wife Aine, 'Angus, I heard three calls, the men are under attack' 'Aye Aine, I have ears and I do know what three blaws means.' He kissed her forehead saying, ' ' I'm heading to the stables now.' 'You can't go. The chief never goes. What would happen if you were killed?' 'There is no man upright who can best Angus Ogg McDonald. The last five men who attempted that, are rotting underground as we speak, and three of them tried it together. Wheesht your tongue wuman. I'll to see to this myself.' It was true, three Campbells, Ewan, and his brother Callum, along with their cousin Rob, had ambushed Angus at Carn Mor Pass. Angus was returning home with only a light escort of Clansmen but not expecting any trouble, had sent them on ahead. The Chief wanted to enjoy the beauty of the pass and to revel in his memories of his Father. They both used to race each other over this pass, the victor getting the bigger slice of old Bonnie's apple pie, Angus was always resigned to the smaller piece. This very thought passed through his mind, as two mailed and heavily armed horsemen blocked his path. 'Hail,' Angus called. The men remained silent and drew their longswords. Angus slipped his plaid over his shoulder revealing his claymore, a long double edged sword, resting on his left hip. He loosened the studs of the scabbard and stiffened his back, while pressing his knees into the sides of Eacchain, his war horse. These practiced actions awakened his trained mount's battle response. Both were now ready to fight. Angus's senses quickened, he heard movement behind, as the man facing him made no response, he was certain it was an attacker. He feinted left but the pony turned right, the attacker's head appeared at the perfect angle to be met by the claymore as it cleared the scabbard. The sword sliced cleanly through the man's neck, decapitating him in a spray of warm blood. His riderless mount startled, whinnied and darted off up the hill-side. Angus spun right again, swinging his weapon and catching the other man on the wrist, halting his downward strike, disarming him. Eacchain, barged into the other horse, pushing and biting, the smaller pony shied, throwing it's rider, who landed winded, on his back. Angus dismounted quickly and threw himself at the fallen man, stabbing his claymore into his chest. The third man dismounted and drew his weapon saying, 'I am Robert Wilson Campbell, those men you have butchered are my kin. 'I Sir am, by the grace of God, Angus Ogg McDonald, Clan chief of McDonald, Lord of Lochaber, Lord of the Isles,and the Hope of the King of Scotland, Prepare to die.' The Campbell stepped forward meeting the Clan's Chief's dirk, which was pushed firmly through his right eye, and fully into his brain, killing him instantly. The Clan Chief, cleaned and stored his weapons before riding back to his Castle at Inverlochy. Now, the Clansmen lead by their chief, rode quickly toward the holding ground, fifteen mounted and well armed troops. The night was bright with the new moon and visibility was perfect. A clear, clean, and sharp frost sparkled off the trees beside the bridle-path. making lighter, the mood of the men who passed. They climbed into the hills, swords and dirks at the ready. Half a mile further and over the rise of a small hillock, the noise of men shouting and the clash of metal on metal was heard. Angus crested the hill to see before him, fifty highlanders engaged in mortal combat. To the left, corralled in a large dry-stane enclosure, stood cattle, protected by his Clansmen, with claymores drawn. The Chief raised his right arm, palm open. Immediately his men stopped and his signalman sounded his goat horn. Angus cupped his hands to his mouth and called, 'Is that Ross Campbell, sheep-shagging Bastard and Ragged-arsed Chief of Clan Campbell, I smell below me?' The fighting stopped, all men parted and turned toward the Chief, who, mounted on Eacchain, and his ancient claymore raised, slowly and deliberately, rode down into the battleground. This was a very strange occurrence . Tradition and custom was. If two Highland Chiefs meet in Battle, all other men have to step aside to leave the two Lords to either, make a deal, or if they fight, it is to the death, with no quarter asked or given. The two young Lords met in the middle. Campbell was a thickset brute of a man, six foot tall and wide shouldered, with a broad bull chest and long dark matted shoulder length hair. He carried a hand and a half Bastard Longsword. Swaggering he walked toward Angus and challenged, ' Dismount McDonald, and face me like a man, If you have the heart that is' 'Heart is it? Heart, retorted Angus, You who gave your black heart to your lover and now carry a lock of her wool round your neck. Oh I'll face you Campbell'. It was rumoured Campbell wore a gold chain bearing a locket, with the legend " I LOVE EWE" engraved on the rear. Campbell grimacing at the insult, charged, Eacchain, reared and stepped back, covering Angus, who jumped clear, as he landed, he struck a boulder, which threw him to the ground, he rolled to his feet, Campbell sliced at his head, cutting the Chief from the left temple to the bottom of his right cheek and splitting both lips. Angus countered with an upthrust, which entered beneath Campbell's light armour. The sword pierced his lungs and heart killing him instantly. Angus covered in Campbell blood, lowered the dead chief to the ground. Custom was, that now defeated, the Campbell men became McDonalds and after swearing allegiance to their new chief, their lands and stock were now part of the victorious chiefs holdings. Angus returned to his Castle where his wounds were stitched together, but not well. He was left with a puckered top lip, which became a nuisance while eating. Highlanders in the middle-ages, used a sharp knife to cut meat from the haunch. The eater, would lift the meat and bite into it, while straining on the meat, the knife was used to cut a mouthful away. When Angus did this, he constantly cut his top lip, he persevered for some time but eventually he had to give in. He instructed the cooks at Inverlochy, to prepare the food in such a way, that knives would not be required. The food was put on plates and some meat mixed with onion and spices, was inserted between two slices of bread, allowing it to be lifted by hand to the mouth. Knives for eating, would never again be used to eat by the Clan McDonald and that is why no cutlery is used in McDonalds restaurants to this day. Copyright © Weefatfella Archived comments for Angus Ogg Lord Of the Isles. madmary on 15-06-2012 Angus Ogg Lord Of the Isles. This brings back memories. I used to read Angus Ogg. as a child. Good story. Well writen. Author's Reply: Thank You again. I hope you are enjoying the weather in Spain. Today June 16th it's chucking it down. cooky on 16-06-2012 Angus Ogg Lord Of the Isles. A well written tale. I never knew the connection with the restaurant though. Author's Reply: Andrea on 17-06-2012 Angus Ogg Lord Of the Isles. Nice one Fats - enjoyed! Author's Reply: amman on 26-06-2012 Angus Ogg Lord Of the Isles. Hey. I missed this first time around, but then I'm as guilty as anyone; the longer pieces tend to be ignored. Well written and enjoyable. Is that true about McDonalds restaurants or is it a tongue in cheek comment. Cheers fella. Author's Reply: Thanks Amman, I appreciate you taking the time to read my 'Slavers' and that, is what this is Slavers, it's complete nonsense, though I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. ChairmanWow on 27-06-2012 Angus Ogg Lord Of the Isles. Action packed fun. There were some typos with quotation marks, i think. Enjoyable stuff. Ralph Author's Reply: Thank you wow. appreciate critique. I am on a mission now to clean up my work. pleased you enjoyed it. |
| Atlas Foundry. (posted on: 11-06-12) While sitting bored in the crane high above the Foundry. Atlas Foundry. At North British Steel Group Armadale (Atlas) foundry. I was employed as an overhead crane-driver and was sitting 100 feet high above the Foundry, bored in the cabin of the crane, which was encased in glass, for all round visibility. Hanging below me on chains was a mould -cope (top half), which was being painted by two closers. This process could take up to an hour, so to relieve boredom I had the habit of looking out to the Foundry below me and I would pick someone to visually follow around. Thus instigating memories of that particular character. Coming into view half way down the foundry bay was Jimmy Lindsay a closer, (Lightning Lindsay, Master Craftsman) Jimmy was a married man about 40-ish tall and he always had a ready smile. His wife June and his two daughters seemed to be constantly in his thoughts, he was clearly a devoted husband and father. The Menzies family, the managing director being Macbeth Menzies, who although in his eighties, still kept a tight hand on the reins, owned the Foundry. The family habit was to submit the up and coming male family members into the Foundry to learn the business from the bottom rung up. Giving them an all round feel for the Company, this was done incognito but the poor souls were found out soon enough, either by their manner or their public schooled posh voice. We were having our piece break one afternoon when round came some visitors led by Gavin McDonald the sycophantic Foreman from the dressing shop, He was wearing his customary cheap suit and was paying attention mostly to a tall and athletically built young man around twenty who had shoulder length blonde hair. No wonder he was Scott Menzies old Mac Beth's grandson. Jimmy had lifted his head from his book and on seeing the group from behind exclaimed. 'Aw see the blonde thing, who's that?..Oh Aye- she wid get it'. 'That's a guy ya numpty,' he was told by no-one in particular. 'Well if that's a guy he wid still get it, Jimmy said. It wasn't long before the guy who would get it, was in that position. Unfortunately the Company decided to start the Menzies boy in our department. Jimmy had the boy terrified. At every opportunity Jimmy would caress Scott's hair and say ' Aw! yie keep it awffie nice son, are you sure yir not a wumman? And before walking away, Jimmy with a leering smile would pat Scott's bum. Scott played his part well and shrugged it off for the good humour that it was. He worked hard and soon became friends with everyone, but things soon went pear-shaped. Scott was splitting a mould after cast, taking the clamps and wedges off and putting them in a bucket, as he bent down to place the wedges, Jimmy shouting 'Darling! Mounted Scott from behind and with his arms round Scott's stomach he began pumping and thrusting suggestively into his nether regions, just as Gavin McDonald and Macbeth Menzies rounded the corner. What a shock for old Macbeth who as far as he knew was witness to his favourite Grandson being butt raped in his own Foundry. The difficult explanations were accepted later and with the help of Scott, were seen for what they were, Foundry banter. My attention was now drawn to wee Francy at the furnace; he had found a large copper ball cock the size of a football and was kicking it around. With the noise of the furnace covering the grating sound as the 'ball' rolled along. Big Wullie thought it was a real ball and was making it known to Francy by his head movements, he wanted a header, he was thrusting his head back and forward like a chicken. Francy was smiling and nodding, He bent down and lifted the ball with both hands and lobbed it at Wullie, who jumped slightly and headed the 'ball'. The look of surprise on Wullies face was priceless as the blood ran down his forehead. Francy turned and laughing made his escape into the dressing shop with Wullie catching up. Walking along the path between the casting pits was the company metallurgist Jimmy P. He was a great guy for sport trivia and used to compete locally in pub quiz games but Jimmy, I knew, wore a wig. It was the latter attribute that caught my attention on this occasion. Jimmy was heading up to the offices to make a report. He was wearing on top of his "syrup", a hard safety hat and because he worked at the furnace this hat was fitted with ear- muffs and a large visor to protect his eyes from the furnace- flash. Jimmy also unfortunately wore dentures and glasses. This in itself and on the face of it,would not have caused any problems and would not have attracted my attention but he was carrying in both hands a large compilation of note-books and written papers all of which he was carefully balancing, also nothing out of the ordinary. What caught my attention was, Jimmy was in the process of holding back a sneeze, which if let loose,would be a catastrophe. I waited eagerly as the battle between Jimmy and nature proceeded, of course Jimmy was always going to lose and when he did the resulting chaos was hilarious. His head shook once, twice, shot back involuntarily and the sneeze exploded! There was paper everywhere, his glasses and teeth shot forward landing six feet away,-the visor closed and slammed down on his chin, pulling the hat and wig off his head. The 'syrup' hooked onto his jacket button hanging there like a babies bib while the hat bounced and rolled along the ground chasing after his dentures. Poor Jimmy stood there bald as a coot surrounded by sheets of A4 paper, some still flying around like butterfly's while others flitted down to land beside open notebooks. Taking a step forward Jimmy crunched on his glasses, his head again went back, while he opened his arms in defeat. Jimmy was devastated. I was in fits. The men signalled they were finished painting and I lowered the cope. Archived comments for Atlas Foundry. Andrea on 12-06-2012 Atlas Foundry. Can't help feeling sorry for poor ol' Scott π And honestly, that vision of Jim's teeth... With work (especially on punctuation and grammar) these snippets could be really, really good. Author's Reply: Buschell on 30-11-2013 Atlas Foundry. How much of this is true? Great yarn spun, you know how to tell 'em! Thought I'd give this one some love...Always nice when someone dives into the ol' back catalogue, aveagoodweekend! Darren. Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind words Darren. This was my first write. I hope I've improved. Weefatfella. |
| Through The Trees. (posted on: 11-06-12) A Strange A-Fare. 
Through The Trees
"£6.40! please, asked the driver, it was 3-30 am in Linlithgow main street.
The rain was falling heavily.
The wipers fighting purposefully to clear the windscreen.
The wind was howling, shaking the trees and blowing the water from the top of the swaying lampposts, as it hurried to whatever meeting it was late for.
The two passengers paid the fare and left the cab, slamming the door loudly.
The man lifted his coat creating a tent to shelter them both as they hurried away into the night.
It always surprised the driver how people could disappear so quickly, they just seemed to vanish.. whoosh---gone.
He cleared his meter and checked the totals.
Not a bad night but he had had worse and not many idiots tonight.
That at the least was a consolation.
Two and a half hours to go, ' Oh well head down won't be long now.
He checked the road and turned the car back towards the hills to Bathgate and another fare.
The headlights showed the road behind the rain as the car powered up Preston road towards Cockleroy.
He turned the two sharp bends each lined with dry- stane- dykes and deep ditches, one right, the other left.
The cab climbed the hill leaving the streetlights of civilization behind.
The dark road was tree lined and the swaying black trees threatened to grab the car as it ran between them.
The wind making claws of the limbs and branches, which reached down to grab at the cab, seemingly angry at its escape.
The clouds raced across the face of the moon.
The cab climbed on, the driver glanced in the rear view mirror seeing nothing but complete darkness behind.
He drove on into the covering of Scots pine. The rain and wind still howling.
The wipers moving steadily from side to side clearing the water.
Another right hand bend, as he turned the main beam caught a five pointed stag, which stared, eyes flashing, alarmed at the disturbance.
The black-cab accelerated to climb the steep hill. The automatic gearbox changing as it tackled the new gradient. The rain pounded on the bonnet.
The cab leveled out turning now, past the Cathlaw Windmill, whose arms still, lingered in the drivers eyes after he passed.
A hand waved, silhouetted in the headlights, 'surely not, thought the driver, somebody up here in this weather, at this time of the morning. 'Well it's what I do, so although apprehensive he stopped.
The new passenger opened the door, the interior lights came on and the alarm buzzer sounded.
The cabbie switched on his meter, as the passenger got in, he sat on the occasional flip seat behind the driver, then shuffled over to the other side to make eye contact, his face close behind the plastic security partition.
The young man leaned down and through the small pay point said ' Eh! Bathgate please Mate.
'Aye!" said the driver switching the intercom on, 'I wasn't going to stop but with the weather.
' I could hardly leave you out in this.
He maneuvered the cab back on to the wet road.
'Aye! Thanks mate. i've just fallen out with my girlfriend and I started to walk home from Linlithgow.
I'm soaked. I didn't expect a taxi up here at this time of the morning.
Thanks again for stopping.
' Nae bother said the driver, as all three now, escaped, into the night.
The lights of Ballencrief Toll came into view the cab stopped at the junction of the main Bathgate to Torphichen road.
Just before he drove onto the main road the cabbie looked behind into the rear view mirror.
The back of the cab was empty no-one there at all!.
'
That's strange" he thought, 'he couldn't have gotten out without my knowing, my foot was on the brake, the doors are locked till I take my foot off and anyway the interior lights would have come on if the door was opened and the buzzer would have sounded.
He stopped the cab he got out, opened the passenger door and checked the flip seat, it was damp he looked all around no sign of anyone.
The rain had stopped, he got back into the cab and checked the meter which was showing £ 4.60 about right from where he.......maybe picked up the fare.
He cleared his meter and headed towards the taxi rank .
Two hours fifteen minutes to go, " Oh well head down won't be long now"Archived comments for Through The Trees. ruadh on 11-06-2012 Through The Trees. This reminded me of a drive through Fife. There was a thick fog to boot and you couldn't see past the bonnet of the car. I have never been so scared in my life. Enjoyed this. (One thing I would recommend is to break your sentences up so they're not so long. Using the commas make it harder to read.) ailsa Author's Reply: Thank You for taking the time to comment. I have not long begun to write and I will adhere to your advice. I am very pleased you enjoyed the piece, it gives me hope. Andrea on 12-06-2012 Through The Trees. For someone who hasn't been writing long, Fat, you do a sterling job π Much enjoyed. Agree with ruadh about the commas - short and punchy is the order of the day! Author's Reply: royrodel on 12-06-2012 Through The Trees. is there any taxis in Lithgie ? Author's Reply: Aye! But theyr'e fae Fawkirk. madmary on 19-06-2012 Through The Trees. (Revised).Was Bathgate Hills. What a scary story. I love the way you built up the tension and kept me on edge waiting to see what happened. A bit like Edgar Allan Poe. My favourate line was the one about the trees trying to grab the cab. Really liked it. Mary Author's Reply: |
| D.Day. (posted on: 08-06-12) The Germans had cracked the code. How was Eisenhower to communicate on open mike? This story isn't true but it should be. D, day. We have all heard of this historical day from WW2 and the outcome and eventual victory of the Allied forces in Europe but very few of us know the inside news, or secrets. In this short story I will reveal one of the amazing facts of the historic Normandy Landings, Codenamed Neptune. A few days before, it was made known that the Germans had broken the radio code which was to be used at the time of the invasion. The logistics of which were astounding. The air borne invasion was to take place at midnight on the 6th June with 24,000 British, American, Canadian and Free-French troops followed by the 6,30am amphibious landings with 5,000 ships and 160,000 troops. The Commanders had no time to use another code system and with the invading forces already massed on the opposite shore, to hide the intent of the Allies was an impossibility. Eisenhower the Overall Commander was, to say the least, a tad apprehensive. To speak on open mike with the forces under his command, frightened the life out of Dwight and he asked for assistance. No one came forward to help but one of Eisenhower's batmen, was Sergeant first class steward, Francis Travers and for most of the time he kept his own council but while clearing away the tables full of the clutter used by Generals and Majors at war councils,Francy who hailed from Elgin and whose Mother tongue was the ancient Doric, could see the General was at a loss. 'Fit fur yie wurrit aboot Sur? a see yur niddin tae Gang yer ain gate but sharely I, fur fit suits, wid gae yie a haun Sur, fur yia canna fund an answer'. The general was gobsmacked he couldn't understand a word he stared at Francy for a moment, then slowly, ever so slowly like fire catching on wet tinder, the smoke cleared and the solution to his problem burst into flame. 'Are there any other people who speak this language soldier?' he asked Francy. 'Ach Aye Sur, Fin the aal cock craws, the young eens learn an I did'na come up wi the last load o hay an fir dinna try tae tell ma ye canna blaw an egg. I've deen it mony a time, it's na lik a dina ken a bee fae a bull's fit, A will sharely funoot fits wrang an soartit furrye, aye! that a wull Sur". The Supreme Commander of the Allied Expeditionary Forces, when Francy's reply was translated, was ecstatic. 'Wonderful!" he said "Fantastic, Francy, you have solved my problem and have probably saved the lives of thousands of ally's here today. 'There will be a promotion and maybe a medal in this for you'. 'Weel a coudnae haud the cat and play with the kitten,wur best a luteet oot. It's a steady drap that wears the steen.' A message was sent to all forces to send any Doric spikkin loons to Headquarters to be given a crash course in radio operation. They were subsequently placed at all strategic points to facilitate the logistics of the Normandy Landings. The opening message of the invasion was.. 'Jist aw yis haud yir wheesht the noo, fir am spikin tae tha Loons aboot, hing in noo fir It tak's a lang speen tae sup we a Fifer,...Wull hae thone Germans Caad aff thur stotter's! Sa aw thae Boatties, Haud the hannel tae the lum!.... With that the Invasion began the German Loons and Quines were flummoxed. Loons are men and Quines are women, in the old Scot's Doric language. Archived comments for D.Day. wordthug on 08-06-2012 D.Day. Like it! Interesting parallel here, WFF, Native American Indians used their language in code and in radio transmissions to stop WW2 Axis forces understanding communications. Gotta admit that the occasional Glaswegian has left me baffled. π Anyways, I reckon you could make more of this story. Just bare bones as it is. First person viewpoint, maybe? alex wordthug. Author's Reply: Yes.wordthug. The film 'Windtalkers' was the inspiration for this story. I agree with you it is very short but I'm a taxi driver and have been for forty years. I normally don't have long to spin my yarns. Thanks for taking the time to comment it is appreciated. Andrea on 09-06-2012 D.Day. Yes, nicely done. Echo Thug's sentiments. Had to struggle a bit through the accent too, but nonetheless an enjoyable read π Author's Reply: Thank you Andrea, you are very gracious. Texasgreg on 09-06-2012 D.Day. Kinda like the bewildered stare I get from britons when speaking to 'em face-to-face. That's why I prefer to write. I can use my translator, LOL. I liked it,"weafinefella", (reference poem "ode to obesity"), yet wish there was just a bit more. I do understand your brevity, though.  .
Texasgreg π BTW- I understood every word. π Author's Reply: Thank you for your kind comments Texasgreg. I got the idea from the film WINDTALKERS. I use brevity because I'm a taxi driver and people are not normally in my cab long enough to elaborate. |
| Bride and Groom. (posted on: 08-06-12) A Prank Goes Wrong. Bride and Groom. I had finished filling the charge bucket with scrap, using the magnet crane at the Atlas Foundry Armadale and after checking the time,I climbed down to go to the howf for my piece. As I passed the scrap bay, something caught my eye. 'What's that?' I thought, "is it a holy statue?" I climbed down among the scrap and pulled out what turned out to be. A catalyst of chaos. It was a strange artifact of the sex industry, known as a ' bride' and 'groom'; ten inches long and four inches wide. On one side demurely presented, was to all intents and purposes a bride in white, holding a small posy of flowers. On the opposite side was a grotesque rubber penis, complete with large veins and purple German helmet, at attention and definitely ready and willing for business. As I examined this abomination, it seemed to empathic-ally throb in my hand. The purpose of this 'thing' I would assume, is to reflect the mood of the female owner. The bride being NO!, the penis being emphatically Yes! The phallus definitely stood, on an eight inch by two inch rectangular box, which had a switch. Inside the member was a bulb, which could be switched on to communicate the mood of the 'bride'. The husband or partner on entering his lovers boudoir and seeing the illuminated proffered aspect, would be in no doubt of his partner's expectations. I carried this emotive instrument into the furnace howf (Amenity) to have a laugh with my workmates. where all the expected, surprising and unexpected suggestions as to what could be done with it were exhausted. Wee Francy, the wag of the team, was overly excited by it and as I should have known, this would have serious consequences. Francy removed the phallus from the base and using a heated welding rod, created a jap's- eye in the head of it. All Furnaces need to be water cooled and a radiator is built into the walls of the outside of the furnace to provide this. The water is pumped round and can be viewed at the trough for contaminants. Francy sniggering, filled the penis with water from the trough, he sealed the end and stuffed the object inside his overalls with the head protruding from the appropriate aperture and with the 'groom' presented to his audience, (which was wee Dan the closer,) gave the impression of him taking a leak into the trough. With this huge appendage in place it also gave the added advantage of improving his status in the alpha male standings. Wee Dan, on seeing the enormous 'penis', removed his pipe from his mouth and called "away Francy! Yiv'e no gote the erse tae caw the wan y'ive gote". Unfortunately wee Dan was not the only person in the audience: Sadie, the seventeen year old wages clerkess had just turned the corner and on seeing Francy relieving himself with his amazing weapon, let out a scream of horror, turned and ran off to escape and preserve her maidenhood, Francy just stared with his jaw wide open, the offending object dropped into the trough with a plop!. I, as shop steward was called to try and sort out the whole affair. Francy and myself walked up to the offices to see the Manager Tam Crozier, bringing the bride and groom along in mitigation. 'Fur Goad's sake!' said Tam 'whit were yie thinkin aboot man, that wee lassie is in tears. I think we have tae call the polis this is a sexual assault fur fuck sake'. 'Hold on, Tam' I pleaded, I produced the offending phallus in mitigation. Tam said "Whit the!-- holy fuck?-- whit is that thing?........ All was explained. Francy kept his job and wee Sadie was shown the culprit. All seen the funny side but the Bride and groom vanished from Wee Sadie's desk............ I still don't know what happened to it. Archived comments for Bride and Groom. Andrea on 09-06-2012 Bride and Groom. Could do with paying some attention to punctuation, and there are also a few stray capitals which shouldn't be there (Bride, Penis, etc), but another humorous little slice of life from the Atlas Foundry π Author's Reply: Thank you Andrea. I'm new at this and I sometimes get carried away. Gaztop on 13-09-2012 Bride and Groom. My grandad was from the Gorbels. He used to tell me tales like this and it had me in stitches. This tale had me falling about laughing! Nice one. Gaztop Author's Reply: |
| A Healthy Wuman. (posted on: 08-06-12) Another tale from the Atlas Foundry Armadale. Monday morning and Wee Francy came in twenty minutes late at the Atlas Foundry Armadale. 'Aw aye!. Decided tae turn up did yie?,--- ya wee shite, said the charge-hand Big Wullie. 'Fuck off, answered Francy' I'm Knackered"-- 'Yir Knackered!- Hungover mare like, countered Wullie,' When yie go tae yir bed, yie should sleep, ya hoarny wee bugger. 'Aye, a would but yie know Cathy, she's an awffie wuman and really healthy, She's gittin oan a bit noo but she still has an awffie sexual appetite"...... 'Well it'll take mare than a wee moose like you tae soart it, yelled Wullie. ' Aw dae yie think sae?, lit me tell yie!. Ya big arse, me and Cathy, went seven times last night, afore she wid let me sleep", Francy boasted. 'Seven times? Seven times oan the nest in wan night?, away Francy, theres no wan guid hump in yie and seven times wid kill a wee guy like you, so git yir arse intae that ladle and git it cleaned oot fur the heat the day and make sure the stoapers don't run oot or I'll Know the reason why. Francy with his head down, headed toward the chosen ladle, to prepare it for holding and pouring the molten metal into moulds later that day. At piece time, later in the howf, Francy was seen to be staring into space, while holding a cheese sandwich in his right hand. Escaping his reverie he, looked at his cheese sandwich and shaking his head, sighed, 'seven times, Goad, seven times, whit a wumman!".. 'Aw fur fuck sake, shouted Wullie 'are you going to keep saying that pish aw day? And after throwing his hands up in the air, he stood up and stormed out of the howf, shaking his head. Francy didn't keep saying it all day, he kept saying it all week, much to the annoyance of Wullie, who, by the end of the week, was raging mad. Wullie and Francy had kept this competitive relationship going for years. They both lived in Armadale and had attended the same school; Primary as well as Secondary and Big Wullie had been trying to dominate Francy all his life but with no success. Even in the measure of their manhood, wee Francy had Wullie beat, It was Francy who should have been called Big Wullie. In fact if the truth was known, the battle had been won by the wee man, years ago. In the showers after work, that afternoon, just to keep up the impetus, Francy had laid another ambuscade for Big Wullie. Carrying my soap and towel, I headed into the communal shower. The showers had no partitions; it was a large tile lined room, with shower points all round the walls. As i walked in I noticed, Francy was under the shower with his cap on, ' Yiv'e goat yir Bunnet on in the shower ya eejit" I said, Francy waved his finger in front of his mouth with a conspiratorial look on his face. I knew to keep quiet. In came his victim Big Wullie 'Francy, yi'r losing it mate, yiv'e goat yir bunnet oan in the shower, said Wullie. Francy, after removing his cigarette from his mouth answered, 'Naw av'e No. Aye yie huv" yelled Wullie. "Naw A huvnae" Francy answered. "Aye! yie fucken have", exclaimed Wullie; angrily. " Naw A fucken huvnae" replied Francy,-- "It's yours!" The following Saturday night, Big Wullie waved cheerio to his mates in Coppies Bar at the top of the hill in Armadale and headed downhill for the Regal Bar at the cross-roads. On the way down, who did he meet but Francy and his "healthy wife" Cathy, who were walking up to Coppies. 'OH, hello Cathy and Francy, Good Evening, greeted Wullie, 'Evening Wullie" answered Cathy, 'how are yie? 'Aye fine, said Wullie "yirsells, Cathy?, 'Aye we're fine, answered Cathy. .Wullie continued. 'Aye! Cathy, as yie know, I'm not wan tae mention another married couples business but that man of yours has pestered me all week, with an outright lie." 'A lie!" Cathy was incredulous. She looked at her husband questioningly,Francy dropped his head. Turning to Wullie she asked " Whit lie would that be Wullie?" Wullie answered 'Cathy, he told me the reason he was late for his work on Monday morning, was because you and him had been going at it all night, Seven times he said, I never said it Cathy,, that man of yours told me, Seven times, there yie are, whit huv yie goat tae say tae that? Cathy glared at wee Francy, then, back to Wullie. 'Wullie your right, he is a liar and I'm mortified that he would lower himself tae that level. Seven times ma arse, it wiz EIGHT!!!.... Wee Francy grabbed his wife and kissed her on the cheek. 'Come oan Hen, there is mare of the same tae look forward tae the night. With that, they sauntered up the hill leaving Big Wullie astonished. Archived comments for A Healthy Wuman. ruadh on 09-06-2012 A Healthy Wuman. It's always the little ones lol. Gave me a giggle anyway. ailsa Author's Reply: Thank you ailsa, much appreciated. Andrea on 09-06-2012 A Healthy Wuman. Bloody awful that foundry sounds π Gave me a chuckle too... Author's Reply: Thank you for taking the time to indulge me. Andrea. The Foundry wasn't a bad place to work, hard heavy work but we had plenty of laughs. Incidentally, when taking a sample from the furnace, the operator has to use a heavy steel pole with a cup on the end. This weighs approximately 70lbs and is ten feet long, I have done it hundreds of times with no help from anyone but when wee Francy had to do it, Big Wullie would put his shovel at the end of the pole and take some of the weight to help wee Francy. When this happened, I just used to smile. Thanks again. |
| Mandy's Hot (posted on: 04-06-12) It is prudent to wash your hands! Mandy's Hot. While never being a very good Football player in my youth, I, however, enjoyed more success as a coach. I coached boys and men in an amateur capacity. in all aspects of the game. The camaraderie and banter, I thoroughly enjoyed at all age levels. While coaching an Amateur team with players, aged twenty to thirty - ish, in my hometown of Bathgate. I came across a situation, where it would be prudent to change the names, to protect the guilty. The goalkeeper, say-' big Norrie ', had turned up at the game with his kit-bag over his shoulder, nothing unusual you would think but big Norrie hadn't trained on the previous Wednesday so, was not eligible to play in that game. " Eh whit's the bag fur Norrie?" The big guy squared his shoulders off, and with a slight mischievous grin, he answered. ''Am I right in thinking, that, if a player had missed training on a Wednesday, making him ineligible to play the next game but the said player, namely myself, had a very good reason for missing training and if that reason was accepted by yourself and the majority of the team. The player could play?" ''Aye! There is that provision." Norrie held his open palm out, to indicate he may have an acceptable excuse. "Right boys!, look-in!," I called to everyone. "The big fella here, thinks he has a good reason for missing training on Wednesday, which would allow him to play in today's game." All the players, who at that moment, were in various stages of changing, as one, all sat down to listen. I nodded to big Norrie. His gambit was-- " Well yiz all know my wumman Mandy?'' he began, (Mandy it has to be said was stunning, she had all the qualities a healthy mature heterosexual male dreamed about). The men all nodded, "Right!!" He continued. "I was leaving for training at 6-30pm on Wednesday and I was standing at the front door of me and Mandy's house. As some of you may know, in my place, if you open the front door, there is a small landing and the stairs begin there and go right up to the bedroom?'' All the team with no exceptions strangely, nodded again.. Big Norrie, Lowering his eyebrows stopped for a second. After giving himself a shake, he carried on regardless. "I opened the front door and just as I did, Mandy called from the top of the stairs.'' "Eh! Where are you off-tae big man?" 'The Fitba Training darlin". " Mandy opened her dressing gown, aw fur Goad sake guys, she was wearing the sexy- gear, aw! She wiz lookin amazing! With fishnet stockings,stilettos and basque. I had no choice lads. I closed the door, as any of you guys would have done and headed up the stairs to attend to my duty." All the team, again with no exceptions raised their hands in supplication. The big Guy had wangled it. As one the team chorused, " Git stripped Big-Man, yir playin.'' Big Norrie though, wasn't finished for the day. All the guys got changed and headed out onto the park for the pre-match warm-up. I was busy preparing the injury and first aid bag. In the bag, I had three 'MAGIC' sponges: One for the cold water bucket, for cooling down knocks; one in a sealed bag, soaked in TCP to clean cuts and one, wet sponge, for pre-cleaning wounds, along with various unguents, cooling and or heating sprays. The big man was busy rubbing liniment into his legs to heat them, as it was pretty cold out. The Ointment he was using, was wintergreen. A particularly virulent concoction, used to heat and re-leave muscles and certainly an ointment one would not advise to use anywhere near a cut and definitely under no circumstances near the eye, or any part of the body with nerve endings. While he was massaging the unguent onto his legs and in my estimation, over applying the cream. He kept l |