1644
DAY TWO: MONDAY
Wait! I hear something? Whose that wandering around my bedroom? Is that Flit? I certainly hope it’s Flit - Ah! The light! When will it stop! Wait a minute. Sun’s burning my eyes - right - ah, there you are! Back for more? Glutton for punishment, obviously. Well, it’s now the next day, and just like the last, it promises to be a day full of wonder, eccentricity and a tinge - a smidgeon perhaps - of lunacy. And only another nineteen more days to go, it seems. Monday mornings, eh? Who invented them? Should be shot with a bloody musket, whoever it was. Never mind. Time to get up, I suppose. Is it me, or does it seem to you that Flit’s particularly quiet today?
“Everything fine, Flit?” It had better be. I don't have time for his nonsense today.
“You are expected at the Town Hall, sir. They're already in session.”
See? You give them all you have, and they just disrespect you like this? “Change that attitude soon, Flit, or I’ll dock your pay.” I would, you know, but frankly I don't know how much more I can dock from his pay as it is. He’s already on sixteenth wages. That’ll teach him for pissing in my rose bushes. Dirty little oik.
Let me just - put on - my - coat. There! Anyway, it is a tradition here in Upper Vaxham that on the second Monday of the month, there is indeed a regularly organised Town Meeting. I rarely bother with them myself. Frankly, they're more trouble than they're worth, and it keeps me from my busy Clergical duties, principally that of ordering Flit about for the day. He loves it, you know. Can’t get enough of me! Here he is with my - alright, man! No need to throw my hat at me! Anyway, I better get down to the Town Hall before all the good seats have gone. Sometimes I wish these private rooms of the Rectory were on the ground floor, you know? My knees aren't as good as they used to be, not with these stairs.
Ah, the piss stained streets of Upper Vaxham! Is there anything better? More than likely. See, I had a dream just before I woke. It was about those Parliamentary thugs, you know? The New Model Army? Yes, I know. It does sound like an unusual fashion statement, but really, they’re actually a bunch of greedy, organised men, ready to trample this beautiful England under their seditious boots. You know, I think they worry me more than the Roundabouts, and that’s saying something. Just a travelling group of violent and -
Oh, would you look at this? Rubbish everywhere! What is this town coming to? Hang on, let me - pick one of - right! A pamphlet? What’s it say? Agreement of the People? You see? It just continues to remind me of that New Model Army. Well, those and the Levellers. They’re those ones working hard toward toppling the King, if I’m not mistaken? Bit extreme, isn’t it? What a bunch of - wait! Look over there! No, not there - there! “Sea-green ribbons? Sprigs of Rosemary? Oh bloody Hell - it’s the Levellers.” Speak of the Devil, and he doth appear, right? Wow! What’s that smell? Sulphur?!? No! Worse! Patchouli!
“We ain’t no Levellers man! We are Agitators! Them Levellers, they wanna murder the King! Not us, man! Jesus, that’s way too heavy! Bring it down a notch huh?” Oh. Apparently I said that out loud, didn't I?
“Sorry. I thought you lot, you know, Lilburne, Overton and Walwyn - I just presumed -“
“Oh, yeah. We are that Levellers, man. Just not those Levellers, you dig?”
Good Heavens no! Flit does all the dirty work! Oh, he means for affirmation, “Yes, I suppose, in a way, I do indeed dig. I think.” Well it’s much the same to me. Aren’t they all seditious loonies? Is he really going to follow me around like that? It’s a bit - disconcerting.
“It’s a heavy subject, don't you think? I -“
“Sorry, whatever your name is! Don't have time! Have to, erm - over here? I just, well -“ That’s got rid of him! Wow! What a strange man! Aren't they annoying, these pamphlet people? Always catching you unawares. What these people need right now is a bloody good war. That'll sort them out. Oh. Right.
Oh look! It’s Market Day. I forgot. Is Flit - here? Ah, there he is! Good man! Don't forget the - oh, he’s got one already. I’ll look forward to that going in a stew later. If there’s one thing I can say in that diminutive man’s favour, it’s his ability to make stews. They have a unique taste to them, which, I must say, is a wonder to cooking. I’ve often thought of asking him what’s in it, but then again I’m too afraid he might actually tell me.
Ah, it seems most of the town is out today. There’s Old Man Pilch - the grumpiest man you could ever meet. It’s said he caused his last three wives to commit suicide, rather than listen to one more sentence to come out of that morose old git’s mouth. Personally, I’ve always found him rather pleasant, but then everyone’s a critic, I suppose.
Ah, the young Mary Chinning! She’s so beautiful, that girl. You have to walk past her bent over, you know? A flower seller and a much sought after young girl, I’ll have you know. No one, to my mind, has taken her posie - yet. But there are some very determined men in Upper Vaxham of late. I tell you, to my knowledge, she is most certainly chaste, that girl. All over the place, it has to be said. A little pun for you there! No? Oh, suit yourself.
Now, over here is a woman who is most definitely not chaste - or chased. She is cheap, however. Not so cheap as to be dirty, but just dirty enough - for some. Okay, I admit it. For me. I would have thought you’d’ve realised by now that cheap falls into the category of magic words for me. That and ‘Cromwell’. It’s my safe-word, don't you know. Yes, she is the original lady of the night; the eponymous good-time girl, Trish Treyne, prossie to the stars. Frankly, if you’ve got coin, she’s yours. And she does all the truly dirty stuff as well. Not - that I’d know anything about that, of course. I am a Rector, you know?
Now we come to Robert Fortune - a veteran of, frankly, anything going. He’s enjoyed - and trust me, I mean really enjoyed - every conflict since the demise of Old Queen Bess. In fact, I do believe he was part of the procession of King Jimmy, when Jimmy took over both thrones. I’m sure he has a story or three, if - and I emphasise the word if - you could make sense of anything he says. He’s been knocked around quite a bit, evident, as you can see, from the scars on his face. It’s the scars you can’t see that are scary. I’ve seen them. I couldn't eat meat for a day or two after. Even now it makes me suspicious of certain types of ham. One day, when I can be arsed, I’m going to buy that man a Beer and force myself to understand him. But quite frankly, if I only have these nineteen days left to live, it hardly seems worth it, does it?
Ah look over there now. More of those bloody pamphleteers. I really don't get it. What is it they really want? I mean, no one’s taking the bloody pamphlets, are they? It’s just another jumped up political movement trying to get a foot hold in dear sweet Vaxham.
What do you mean Vaxham stinks? Granted, most of the town smells of piss, but not here. Here it smells of bread, of meat and flowers - and piss. Okay, it still smells of piss here too, but then we don't have a sewer system here in Upper Vaxham. No, what we have are holes in the ground and very lonely men who travel round and empty them at night. Hey, who are you to balk? Do you know how much they get payed? Actually, neither do I. But I bet it’s more than a Rector.
Here we are. Upper Vaxham Town Hall. These stairs still creek, it would seem. Have done since I can remember. I think they keep them like that on purpose, so whoever is inside the Hall can measure their words as someone approaches. Quite clever, if you think about it. You have to admire laziness turned into invention. It’s the best kind. Right, better get inside. I am the Chairman, after all. Oh, the room’s full! Could get interesting, then.
"Ah, so glad you could join us at last!” See him? Yes? That is, of course, the thin and greasy Sir Geoffrey Dash, a man of some note down in that London town. I think he resents the fact that I have the Chair this year. Burns him up inside. Oh, how I love me, sometimes! Just look at him there, squirming in his own feculence?
"I see you've got it started without me, eh, Dash? Good man. All that boring stuff at the start?”
"You know you should really have been here earlier, Posster? Just a small matter of representing the people of Vaxham?"
"Upper Vaxham, Dash. Never forget our upwardly mobile outlook." There. Let my waggly finger be admonishment to you.
“Whatever. To business."
“The war?” Now there’s a clerk with a quick wit! Buggered if I can remember his name though.
“Well, yes, amongst other domestic issues. Namely the debacle of the visiting Pilgrims yesterday. We received a number of complaints from -“
I was wondering when he was going to mention that, “Oh, Dash. You don't want to go around listening to gossip? Everything was sorted out by the end of the day, anyway.”
“Was it? Was it really? I understand the Bishop has been informed, Posster. We cannot simply go around, attacking people -“
“Like I say, it was all tidied up by the end of the day.” It was. I made sure Flit showed them all the way home, but not before he emptied their purses. He does the Lord’s work, does Flit.
“Well - it’s in the hands of the Bishop now. Nothing you nor I can do about it. More’s the pity.”
“You love me really.” He does. What’s not to love? I’m irresistible! Right! Who laughed there?!?
“Right, well, okay - I want to talk about these strange occurrences, that have surfaced ever since the Summer Solstice -“
“You - want to talk about it? Ahem, aren't we forgetting who the Chairman is?” Give him an inch and he’ll run off with it and bury it in his garden, I swear.
“It was decided in your absence -“
“I’m here now, though.”
“That’s as maybe, but -“
“We have to have rules, Dash, or we would be like those colonists, running around, killing natives willy-nilly -“
“If - If you had been here at the start of the meeting - as you are supposed to be - you know, rules and stuff? We took a vote.” You know, it’s not worth the argument. Let the toad have his moment in the sun. Hopefully he’ll melt.
“Go ahead then, Dash. We don't have all day.” I do, in fact have all day, but I’m not going to bloody admit it to him.
“Right. Has anyone else noticed the abundance of money lenders in town? I think they call themselves Roundabouts?”
“It’s the war. It brings all sorts, Sir Geoffrey.” There goes that clerk with no name again.
“Quite, Bradshaw,” Bradshaw! That’s it! Why was I thinking Figgit? “It’s something we need to keep an eye on. There truly is a dangerous element creeping into Upper Vaxham these darker days.” Why’s he looking at me? Personally I think they're already here, and have been for quite a while. Better not say that out loud though. Walls have ears. Admittedly not very good ears, but even a rumour does the rounds, if you’re not careful - often to the wrong people, “Which brings us to the Levellers.”
“Oh, they're harmless, Dash! Leave the poor sods alone!” Well, I have to say something, you understand? I can’t just let this dreg of Beer stand.
“That’s where you're wrong, Posster. Have you, in fact, read this pamphlet? No, I didn't think so. They profess a Democratic ideal, sure. Who doesn’t? But then comes the issue of suffrage. Are you aware when they say suffrage that they are actually referring to every man - notice, man - that every man should have the right to vote - excluding of course household servants and those dependent upon handouts, because they are concerned that those men will simply vote the way they are told? And when it comes to the women-folk? All are excluded you understand, because, as they phrase it, they are legally and monetarily dependent on their men. There are a number of women in this room, as you can see. Would you deny them their rights? Would you, Posster?”
Well, that’s me told, certainly. You know, sometimes, just sometimes, you get that feeling deep in your gut telling you to keep your trap shut? He has a point though, annoyingly. I hate to admit it, so I won’t. I’m petty like that.
“- Are you listening, Posster?” Apparently not. What did he say? “Oh, never mind. One day, I swear, Posster. Meeting is adjourned. Seeing as you’re too busy to say it.” I wasn't too busy. I just wasn't listening. There is a difference, you know.
I need to get out of here now. It’s stifling and I need a drink, down at - oh, I forgot. He’s not serving me is he? It’s times like this I miss Flit’s Bath Beer. And in case you’re wondering, yes, it’s got that bad! So bad, in fact, I’m contemplating getting Flit to brew up a batch of his enamel melting, revolting, rotting cabbage based Beer. I must be desperate. That or suicidal. Bugger it. I’ll just leave this lot to it. Yes, yes, Dash! I’m not listening! Okay?
Again with these bloody creaky stairs!
No! I don't want one of your necklaces! Nor your - whatever that is!
No, I don't want a sodding pamphlet! Just over there, to that - come on you lot! Let me through, so I can at least go to the pub and smell the sweet, sweet odour of -
“I’m still not serving you!” There he is! The rotund, red-faced, Beer-soaked champion of the sweet brown liquid! I thought I couldn’t get through another day without those dulcet tones of Ranker, the Landlord. Does he have another name? I’ve never thought to ask. In fact, is Ranker a first or last name? Why do I care? That’s right, I don’t.
“It’s alright. I only want to hide for a minute or two. I won’t cause a fuss, I promise. Just while those -“
“Hey!” Oh, dear God - “Name’s Sunny Meadow! Can we, like, talk?” Look who it is - yes, I know I can talk, but I’m not wholly convinced you can similarly reciprocate, my friend. He’s coming over! Oh, look. He’s sitting down? Great.
Yet while I’ve got the opportunity, “I understand you have interesting views in your manifesto?” Jab, jab, punch! Take that you Independent English Political Movement! One to the chin! One to the -
“You read it? It’s good isn't it?”
“Well -“ I wouldn’t wipe my backside with it, quite frankly. Mainly because it’s a little coarse on the rear-end, and I have a delicate skin type -
“You know, with all these phrases in it? Like - hey, each guy, you know, should be an arrow, like, against all tyrants and tyranny, dig? It’s the Norman yoke, man! You know? What they imposed on the English after the Conquest? Natural rights, man! Natural rights! Yeah, that which them Royalists are running rough-shod over. Oppressors!” Is he really shaking his fist at a group of people who have no idea he’s doing it? I mean, like, does he ever stop, like, talking? God, he’s got me doing it now -
“Those Grandees in their, like, ivory towers, man! Free the people! Right?”
“Uhm, probably?”
“Wish Red was here. Shame he got locked up for calling out them Parliamentary cowards! Sitting on their arses, they are! Even when them poor Soldiers are dying for something they profess to dig? Bad, man. Bad.”
“Anyway, I’ve - you know?” I think I should've stayed in the Council Meeting. At least I understood my enemy there. And I could handle it. This Solstice has a lot to answer for. Not least, the mystery of where all my breeches have gone? I mean, I had a half dozen last month, and they're all gone now? Surely Flit isn't selling them on or something? Eww, the thought of someone else's bottom in my breeches? I shudder at the though! I think I’m going to be sick -
Oh good. He hasn't followed me outside. Let’s be thankful for that, at least. God, but look who’s here? Like replaces like, it seems.
“Sticks!” It’s Sticks, by the way. Thought he didn't need reintroducing. It was a largely pointless venture introducing him yesterday to be honest.
“Rector!”
“Still not straight, I suppose?” I should humour the boy.
“Sorry?” Dear God, I’ll swing for him, I swear - “They are gathering, you know, Rector! I see them! Lest not Letty be my name! And it is!” Yes it is, you lunatic.
“Well, nice talking to you again, Sticks -“
“The rope still waits, coiled and ready to strike!” Right, so he thinks a snake is a rope now. There’s something - unusual - going on up there in his bonce, “The Longest Day! The Shortest Night! Rector! Listen! You can hear them whisper! They sing a song from the soul! They wake! They wait! They - ooh! Shiny!” He’s off again. Off his head, certainly. Maybe his Mother dropped him on it when he was born? Mind you, I’ve seen Old Maid Letty. A shocking woman, let me tell you! It’s said that when Sticks was born, she mistook his birth for a movement. She certainly eats enough, I can tell you. People used to give her a pew to herself, in Vaxham Church. It wasn't just the size, the rolls of fat - it was the smell. That and she looked like the business end of a cannon, if that cannon had been hit more than once with the ugly stick. No one knows to this day how she conceived in the first place. People have called it an immaculate conception. I call it a drunken night and a hole.
Okay, so I might be the boy’s Father! Don't judge me! You’d be surprised how blind Flit’s Beer can make you! Quite frankly, at the time, I thought I was taking a piss down a well. Just a big, soft, pink well. I’m not proud of it. Who the bloody Hell would be?!? Oh, no one knows the trials of a Rector -
“He looks more like you by the day Rector.”
“Jimmy. Jimmy Boots. The Major General not well today?” From the fiery pit to the - other fiery pit? Metaphors escape me right at this moment.
“He’s having an issue with his Missus. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Rector?” Ah, the unmistakable tones of the homicidal maniac. Jimmy Boots, once Lieutenant James Bootridge, in case you are unaware, is that one who chased those Royalists down outside of London? Hanged them with their own entrails? Remember? No? It was everywhere at the time. Everyone was talking about it. How could you have missed it? I mean, I even think there was a joke doing the rounds at the time, you know, about the thing and the thing? Well, it was him, he did do it, and I am crapping my breeches right now. Shame I don't currently have any clean spares. Damn you Flit!
“Jimmy, I would have absolutely no idea if it could be of any use, but if you think it would help, I could offer my counselling services to the Major General and his -“ Right. Shouldn't have said that. You know, I always wondered what it would be like to be pinned to a wall by a homicidal maniac? Now I don't have to. Okay. Either that’s a smile, or his mouth-wound has opened up again. No, it’s a smile. Is that better? Dear God I hope so.
“He’s thinking she might be knocked up.”
“Well, Jimmy, that’s not so unusual, is it? I mean, they are -“
“He doesn't have the balls, Posster.”
“Really? I thought he was quite an insistent fellow -“
“He doesn't have the balls! Plums! Nuts! The two conkers to the horse chestnut!” Oh.
“Oh.” Sometimes I say what I think, you know, “Well, you can be confident that it isn't me -“ Oww! Don't - don't squeeze them like - ouch!
“Well, you still have yours. For now. Remember, Rector, we are owed, and we will take what is owed us one way or another, or your - balls! - will become a downpayment. Understand?”
“I really believe I do.” I didn't know my voice could go up that many octaves. Just - release them - gently - there you go!
“Remember, Rector; we are watching you, every step of the way.” Don't I know it? I just need to steer clear of the Roundabouts for a while longer. Surely some of my schemes are going to come to fruition soon? I mean, I’ve been putting some hard work into that Ladies Wine Morning. I’ve got them by the - not balls - well, whatever it is I’ve got them by, I’ve got them good and proper! Just a few more - days - and - oh bugger. Back to the Church. Maybe I can shake him off.
“So, it’s, like, we want popular sovereignty, you dig? Rule of the People? Oh, and equality before the law? Kinda like, everyone, you know, from King to Lord, to, I dunno man - me! And, and you! Like, we get treated the same, man!”
Lies! Nothing but bare faced lies!
“Ain’t it, though? And - and the Right to Vote! Like, everyone has suffrage, you dig?”
Yet more lies! Can we bare any more lies?
“Well - Anyway, man, you gotta love this one. Religious tolerance! Yeah! Like, everyone is free to worship who he pleases! Oh don't that feel good? I mean -“
That’s it! That’s where I draw the line! Absolutely no bloody Catholics! Not on my watch, buddy! Wait, what was that he just said? It sounded like -
“- Oh, and, of course, we blow stuff up? Kinda sabotage? In the name of freedom? Dig?”
Oh, I very much think you have, my son, into a great bloody hole you’re not getting out of! Now, where’s a Clubman when you need one? Ah! There’s one! Oh, Clubman?!
Got to keep the streets clean, man. You dig?
And there he goes!
Well, at least that’s over! And time to spare, before the mystery stew tonight! Wonder if Trish is free? Well, not free - reasonable perhaps? Yes, that’s what I meant. Reasonable. Cheap. Probably more apt.
Bugger. Jimmy Boots got there first. I’m not going in there after him, I can tell you. There isn’t a disease that man hasn't suffered from in the last few years.
Oh, but who knows? Maybe Trish Treyne has caught some new ones recently? And, here’s hoping, one of them is really, really painful. I love you really Jimmy! Balls do I…
Wait! I hear something? Whose that wandering around my bedroom? Is that Flit? I certainly hope it’s Flit - Ah! The light! When will it stop! Wait a minute. Sun’s burning my eyes - right - ah, there you are! Back for more? Glutton for punishment, obviously. Well, it’s now the next day, and just like the last, it promises to be a day full of wonder, eccentricity and a tinge - a smidgeon perhaps - of lunacy. And only another nineteen more days to go, it seems. Monday mornings, eh? Who invented them? Should be shot with a bloody musket, whoever it was. Never mind. Time to get up, I suppose. Is it me, or does it seem to you that Flit’s particularly quiet today?
“Everything fine, Flit?” It had better be. I don't have time for his nonsense today.
“You are expected at the Town Hall, sir. They're already in session.”
See? You give them all you have, and they just disrespect you like this? “Change that attitude soon, Flit, or I’ll dock your pay.” I would, you know, but frankly I don't know how much more I can dock from his pay as it is. He’s already on sixteenth wages. That’ll teach him for pissing in my rose bushes. Dirty little oik.
Let me just - put on - my - coat. There! Anyway, it is a tradition here in Upper Vaxham that on the second Monday of the month, there is indeed a regularly organised Town Meeting. I rarely bother with them myself. Frankly, they're more trouble than they're worth, and it keeps me from my busy Clergical duties, principally that of ordering Flit about for the day. He loves it, you know. Can’t get enough of me! Here he is with my - alright, man! No need to throw my hat at me! Anyway, I better get down to the Town Hall before all the good seats have gone. Sometimes I wish these private rooms of the Rectory were on the ground floor, you know? My knees aren't as good as they used to be, not with these stairs.
Ah, the piss stained streets of Upper Vaxham! Is there anything better? More than likely. See, I had a dream just before I woke. It was about those Parliamentary thugs, you know? The New Model Army? Yes, I know. It does sound like an unusual fashion statement, but really, they’re actually a bunch of greedy, organised men, ready to trample this beautiful England under their seditious boots. You know, I think they worry me more than the Roundabouts, and that’s saying something. Just a travelling group of violent and -
Oh, would you look at this? Rubbish everywhere! What is this town coming to? Hang on, let me - pick one of - right! A pamphlet? What’s it say? Agreement of the People? You see? It just continues to remind me of that New Model Army. Well, those and the Levellers. They’re those ones working hard toward toppling the King, if I’m not mistaken? Bit extreme, isn’t it? What a bunch of - wait! Look over there! No, not there - there! “Sea-green ribbons? Sprigs of Rosemary? Oh bloody Hell - it’s the Levellers.” Speak of the Devil, and he doth appear, right? Wow! What’s that smell? Sulphur?!? No! Worse! Patchouli!
“We ain’t no Levellers man! We are Agitators! Them Levellers, they wanna murder the King! Not us, man! Jesus, that’s way too heavy! Bring it down a notch huh?” Oh. Apparently I said that out loud, didn't I?
“Sorry. I thought you lot, you know, Lilburne, Overton and Walwyn - I just presumed -“
“Oh, yeah. We are that Levellers, man. Just not those Levellers, you dig?”
Good Heavens no! Flit does all the dirty work! Oh, he means for affirmation, “Yes, I suppose, in a way, I do indeed dig. I think.” Well it’s much the same to me. Aren’t they all seditious loonies? Is he really going to follow me around like that? It’s a bit - disconcerting.
“It’s a heavy subject, don't you think? I -“
“Sorry, whatever your name is! Don't have time! Have to, erm - over here? I just, well -“ That’s got rid of him! Wow! What a strange man! Aren't they annoying, these pamphlet people? Always catching you unawares. What these people need right now is a bloody good war. That'll sort them out. Oh. Right.
Oh look! It’s Market Day. I forgot. Is Flit - here? Ah, there he is! Good man! Don't forget the - oh, he’s got one already. I’ll look forward to that going in a stew later. If there’s one thing I can say in that diminutive man’s favour, it’s his ability to make stews. They have a unique taste to them, which, I must say, is a wonder to cooking. I’ve often thought of asking him what’s in it, but then again I’m too afraid he might actually tell me.
Ah, it seems most of the town is out today. There’s Old Man Pilch - the grumpiest man you could ever meet. It’s said he caused his last three wives to commit suicide, rather than listen to one more sentence to come out of that morose old git’s mouth. Personally, I’ve always found him rather pleasant, but then everyone’s a critic, I suppose.
Ah, the young Mary Chinning! She’s so beautiful, that girl. You have to walk past her bent over, you know? A flower seller and a much sought after young girl, I’ll have you know. No one, to my mind, has taken her posie - yet. But there are some very determined men in Upper Vaxham of late. I tell you, to my knowledge, she is most certainly chaste, that girl. All over the place, it has to be said. A little pun for you there! No? Oh, suit yourself.
Now, over here is a woman who is most definitely not chaste - or chased. She is cheap, however. Not so cheap as to be dirty, but just dirty enough - for some. Okay, I admit it. For me. I would have thought you’d’ve realised by now that cheap falls into the category of magic words for me. That and ‘Cromwell’. It’s my safe-word, don't you know. Yes, she is the original lady of the night; the eponymous good-time girl, Trish Treyne, prossie to the stars. Frankly, if you’ve got coin, she’s yours. And she does all the truly dirty stuff as well. Not - that I’d know anything about that, of course. I am a Rector, you know?
Now we come to Robert Fortune - a veteran of, frankly, anything going. He’s enjoyed - and trust me, I mean really enjoyed - every conflict since the demise of Old Queen Bess. In fact, I do believe he was part of the procession of King Jimmy, when Jimmy took over both thrones. I’m sure he has a story or three, if - and I emphasise the word if - you could make sense of anything he says. He’s been knocked around quite a bit, evident, as you can see, from the scars on his face. It’s the scars you can’t see that are scary. I’ve seen them. I couldn't eat meat for a day or two after. Even now it makes me suspicious of certain types of ham. One day, when I can be arsed, I’m going to buy that man a Beer and force myself to understand him. But quite frankly, if I only have these nineteen days left to live, it hardly seems worth it, does it?
Ah look over there now. More of those bloody pamphleteers. I really don't get it. What is it they really want? I mean, no one’s taking the bloody pamphlets, are they? It’s just another jumped up political movement trying to get a foot hold in dear sweet Vaxham.
What do you mean Vaxham stinks? Granted, most of the town smells of piss, but not here. Here it smells of bread, of meat and flowers - and piss. Okay, it still smells of piss here too, but then we don't have a sewer system here in Upper Vaxham. No, what we have are holes in the ground and very lonely men who travel round and empty them at night. Hey, who are you to balk? Do you know how much they get payed? Actually, neither do I. But I bet it’s more than a Rector.
Here we are. Upper Vaxham Town Hall. These stairs still creek, it would seem. Have done since I can remember. I think they keep them like that on purpose, so whoever is inside the Hall can measure their words as someone approaches. Quite clever, if you think about it. You have to admire laziness turned into invention. It’s the best kind. Right, better get inside. I am the Chairman, after all. Oh, the room’s full! Could get interesting, then.
"Ah, so glad you could join us at last!” See him? Yes? That is, of course, the thin and greasy Sir Geoffrey Dash, a man of some note down in that London town. I think he resents the fact that I have the Chair this year. Burns him up inside. Oh, how I love me, sometimes! Just look at him there, squirming in his own feculence?
"I see you've got it started without me, eh, Dash? Good man. All that boring stuff at the start?”
"You know you should really have been here earlier, Posster? Just a small matter of representing the people of Vaxham?"
"Upper Vaxham, Dash. Never forget our upwardly mobile outlook." There. Let my waggly finger be admonishment to you.
“Whatever. To business."
“The war?” Now there’s a clerk with a quick wit! Buggered if I can remember his name though.
“Well, yes, amongst other domestic issues. Namely the debacle of the visiting Pilgrims yesterday. We received a number of complaints from -“
I was wondering when he was going to mention that, “Oh, Dash. You don't want to go around listening to gossip? Everything was sorted out by the end of the day, anyway.”
“Was it? Was it really? I understand the Bishop has been informed, Posster. We cannot simply go around, attacking people -“
“Like I say, it was all tidied up by the end of the day.” It was. I made sure Flit showed them all the way home, but not before he emptied their purses. He does the Lord’s work, does Flit.
“Well - it’s in the hands of the Bishop now. Nothing you nor I can do about it. More’s the pity.”
“You love me really.” He does. What’s not to love? I’m irresistible! Right! Who laughed there?!?
“Right, well, okay - I want to talk about these strange occurrences, that have surfaced ever since the Summer Solstice -“
“You - want to talk about it? Ahem, aren't we forgetting who the Chairman is?” Give him an inch and he’ll run off with it and bury it in his garden, I swear.
“It was decided in your absence -“
“I’m here now, though.”
“That’s as maybe, but -“
“We have to have rules, Dash, or we would be like those colonists, running around, killing natives willy-nilly -“
“If - If you had been here at the start of the meeting - as you are supposed to be - you know, rules and stuff? We took a vote.” You know, it’s not worth the argument. Let the toad have his moment in the sun. Hopefully he’ll melt.
“Go ahead then, Dash. We don't have all day.” I do, in fact have all day, but I’m not going to bloody admit it to him.
“Right. Has anyone else noticed the abundance of money lenders in town? I think they call themselves Roundabouts?”
“It’s the war. It brings all sorts, Sir Geoffrey.” There goes that clerk with no name again.
“Quite, Bradshaw,” Bradshaw! That’s it! Why was I thinking Figgit? “It’s something we need to keep an eye on. There truly is a dangerous element creeping into Upper Vaxham these darker days.” Why’s he looking at me? Personally I think they're already here, and have been for quite a while. Better not say that out loud though. Walls have ears. Admittedly not very good ears, but even a rumour does the rounds, if you’re not careful - often to the wrong people, “Which brings us to the Levellers.”
“Oh, they're harmless, Dash! Leave the poor sods alone!” Well, I have to say something, you understand? I can’t just let this dreg of Beer stand.
“That’s where you're wrong, Posster. Have you, in fact, read this pamphlet? No, I didn't think so. They profess a Democratic ideal, sure. Who doesn’t? But then comes the issue of suffrage. Are you aware when they say suffrage that they are actually referring to every man - notice, man - that every man should have the right to vote - excluding of course household servants and those dependent upon handouts, because they are concerned that those men will simply vote the way they are told? And when it comes to the women-folk? All are excluded you understand, because, as they phrase it, they are legally and monetarily dependent on their men. There are a number of women in this room, as you can see. Would you deny them their rights? Would you, Posster?”
Well, that’s me told, certainly. You know, sometimes, just sometimes, you get that feeling deep in your gut telling you to keep your trap shut? He has a point though, annoyingly. I hate to admit it, so I won’t. I’m petty like that.
“- Are you listening, Posster?” Apparently not. What did he say? “Oh, never mind. One day, I swear, Posster. Meeting is adjourned. Seeing as you’re too busy to say it.” I wasn't too busy. I just wasn't listening. There is a difference, you know.
I need to get out of here now. It’s stifling and I need a drink, down at - oh, I forgot. He’s not serving me is he? It’s times like this I miss Flit’s Bath Beer. And in case you’re wondering, yes, it’s got that bad! So bad, in fact, I’m contemplating getting Flit to brew up a batch of his enamel melting, revolting, rotting cabbage based Beer. I must be desperate. That or suicidal. Bugger it. I’ll just leave this lot to it. Yes, yes, Dash! I’m not listening! Okay?
Again with these bloody creaky stairs!
No! I don't want one of your necklaces! Nor your - whatever that is!
No, I don't want a sodding pamphlet! Just over there, to that - come on you lot! Let me through, so I can at least go to the pub and smell the sweet, sweet odour of -
“I’m still not serving you!” There he is! The rotund, red-faced, Beer-soaked champion of the sweet brown liquid! I thought I couldn’t get through another day without those dulcet tones of Ranker, the Landlord. Does he have another name? I’ve never thought to ask. In fact, is Ranker a first or last name? Why do I care? That’s right, I don’t.
“It’s alright. I only want to hide for a minute or two. I won’t cause a fuss, I promise. Just while those -“
“Hey!” Oh, dear God - “Name’s Sunny Meadow! Can we, like, talk?” Look who it is - yes, I know I can talk, but I’m not wholly convinced you can similarly reciprocate, my friend. He’s coming over! Oh, look. He’s sitting down? Great.
Yet while I’ve got the opportunity, “I understand you have interesting views in your manifesto?” Jab, jab, punch! Take that you Independent English Political Movement! One to the chin! One to the -
“You read it? It’s good isn't it?”
“Well -“ I wouldn’t wipe my backside with it, quite frankly. Mainly because it’s a little coarse on the rear-end, and I have a delicate skin type -
“You know, with all these phrases in it? Like - hey, each guy, you know, should be an arrow, like, against all tyrants and tyranny, dig? It’s the Norman yoke, man! You know? What they imposed on the English after the Conquest? Natural rights, man! Natural rights! Yeah, that which them Royalists are running rough-shod over. Oppressors!” Is he really shaking his fist at a group of people who have no idea he’s doing it? I mean, like, does he ever stop, like, talking? God, he’s got me doing it now -
“Those Grandees in their, like, ivory towers, man! Free the people! Right?”
“Uhm, probably?”
“Wish Red was here. Shame he got locked up for calling out them Parliamentary cowards! Sitting on their arses, they are! Even when them poor Soldiers are dying for something they profess to dig? Bad, man. Bad.”
“Anyway, I’ve - you know?” I think I should've stayed in the Council Meeting. At least I understood my enemy there. And I could handle it. This Solstice has a lot to answer for. Not least, the mystery of where all my breeches have gone? I mean, I had a half dozen last month, and they're all gone now? Surely Flit isn't selling them on or something? Eww, the thought of someone else's bottom in my breeches? I shudder at the though! I think I’m going to be sick -
Oh good. He hasn't followed me outside. Let’s be thankful for that, at least. God, but look who’s here? Like replaces like, it seems.
“Sticks!” It’s Sticks, by the way. Thought he didn't need reintroducing. It was a largely pointless venture introducing him yesterday to be honest.
“Rector!”
“Still not straight, I suppose?” I should humour the boy.
“Sorry?” Dear God, I’ll swing for him, I swear - “They are gathering, you know, Rector! I see them! Lest not Letty be my name! And it is!” Yes it is, you lunatic.
“Well, nice talking to you again, Sticks -“
“The rope still waits, coiled and ready to strike!” Right, so he thinks a snake is a rope now. There’s something - unusual - going on up there in his bonce, “The Longest Day! The Shortest Night! Rector! Listen! You can hear them whisper! They sing a song from the soul! They wake! They wait! They - ooh! Shiny!” He’s off again. Off his head, certainly. Maybe his Mother dropped him on it when he was born? Mind you, I’ve seen Old Maid Letty. A shocking woman, let me tell you! It’s said that when Sticks was born, she mistook his birth for a movement. She certainly eats enough, I can tell you. People used to give her a pew to herself, in Vaxham Church. It wasn't just the size, the rolls of fat - it was the smell. That and she looked like the business end of a cannon, if that cannon had been hit more than once with the ugly stick. No one knows to this day how she conceived in the first place. People have called it an immaculate conception. I call it a drunken night and a hole.
Okay, so I might be the boy’s Father! Don't judge me! You’d be surprised how blind Flit’s Beer can make you! Quite frankly, at the time, I thought I was taking a piss down a well. Just a big, soft, pink well. I’m not proud of it. Who the bloody Hell would be?!? Oh, no one knows the trials of a Rector -
“He looks more like you by the day Rector.”
“Jimmy. Jimmy Boots. The Major General not well today?” From the fiery pit to the - other fiery pit? Metaphors escape me right at this moment.
“He’s having an issue with his Missus. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Rector?” Ah, the unmistakable tones of the homicidal maniac. Jimmy Boots, once Lieutenant James Bootridge, in case you are unaware, is that one who chased those Royalists down outside of London? Hanged them with their own entrails? Remember? No? It was everywhere at the time. Everyone was talking about it. How could you have missed it? I mean, I even think there was a joke doing the rounds at the time, you know, about the thing and the thing? Well, it was him, he did do it, and I am crapping my breeches right now. Shame I don't currently have any clean spares. Damn you Flit!
“Jimmy, I would have absolutely no idea if it could be of any use, but if you think it would help, I could offer my counselling services to the Major General and his -“ Right. Shouldn't have said that. You know, I always wondered what it would be like to be pinned to a wall by a homicidal maniac? Now I don't have to. Okay. Either that’s a smile, or his mouth-wound has opened up again. No, it’s a smile. Is that better? Dear God I hope so.
“He’s thinking she might be knocked up.”
“Well, Jimmy, that’s not so unusual, is it? I mean, they are -“
“He doesn't have the balls, Posster.”
“Really? I thought he was quite an insistent fellow -“
“He doesn't have the balls! Plums! Nuts! The two conkers to the horse chestnut!” Oh.
“Oh.” Sometimes I say what I think, you know, “Well, you can be confident that it isn't me -“ Oww! Don't - don't squeeze them like - ouch!
“Well, you still have yours. For now. Remember, Rector, we are owed, and we will take what is owed us one way or another, or your - balls! - will become a downpayment. Understand?”
“I really believe I do.” I didn't know my voice could go up that many octaves. Just - release them - gently - there you go!
“Remember, Rector; we are watching you, every step of the way.” Don't I know it? I just need to steer clear of the Roundabouts for a while longer. Surely some of my schemes are going to come to fruition soon? I mean, I’ve been putting some hard work into that Ladies Wine Morning. I’ve got them by the - not balls - well, whatever it is I’ve got them by, I’ve got them good and proper! Just a few more - days - and - oh bugger. Back to the Church. Maybe I can shake him off.
“So, it’s, like, we want popular sovereignty, you dig? Rule of the People? Oh, and equality before the law? Kinda like, everyone, you know, from King to Lord, to, I dunno man - me! And, and you! Like, we get treated the same, man!”
Lies! Nothing but bare faced lies!
“Ain’t it, though? And - and the Right to Vote! Like, everyone has suffrage, you dig?”
Yet more lies! Can we bare any more lies?
“Well - Anyway, man, you gotta love this one. Religious tolerance! Yeah! Like, everyone is free to worship who he pleases! Oh don't that feel good? I mean -“
That’s it! That’s where I draw the line! Absolutely no bloody Catholics! Not on my watch, buddy! Wait, what was that he just said? It sounded like -
“- Oh, and, of course, we blow stuff up? Kinda sabotage? In the name of freedom? Dig?”
Oh, I very much think you have, my son, into a great bloody hole you’re not getting out of! Now, where’s a Clubman when you need one? Ah! There’s one! Oh, Clubman?!
Got to keep the streets clean, man. You dig?
And there he goes!
Well, at least that’s over! And time to spare, before the mystery stew tonight! Wonder if Trish is free? Well, not free - reasonable perhaps? Yes, that’s what I meant. Reasonable. Cheap. Probably more apt.
Bugger. Jimmy Boots got there first. I’m not going in there after him, I can tell you. There isn’t a disease that man hasn't suffered from in the last few years.
Oh, but who knows? Maybe Trish Treyne has caught some new ones recently? And, here’s hoping, one of them is really, really painful. I love you really Jimmy! Balls do I…
No comments:
Post a Comment