15.
Minster's Mystery Streaker
YORK Minster
is the second largest Gothic cathedral in Northern Europe. The earliest recorded church on this site was built in 627 for the baptism of Edwin, King of Northumbria by St Paulinus, Bishop of York. Various stone structures replaced this original wooden church over the centuries. Some were damaged by fire, others by Viking invaders. It was rebuilt in 1070 by Thomas of Bayeux, the first Norman Archbishop, and the present Minster was begun in 1220 under Walter de Gray. It was completed in 1472. It is built from magnesian limestone, a creamy-white rock from Tadcaster near York. It is 158 metres (518 ft) long and each of its three towers are 60 metres (200 ft) high. The choir has an interior height of 31 metres (102 ft). It is dedicated to St Peter.
Evensong is being led by the boys of the Minster Choir. A pure, unbroken treble soars to the ceiling of the cavernous Cathedral as his ''Soul doth magnify the Lord'' (in Brewer's version). Yo-yo, listening appreciatively, notes the famous Rose Window dating from 1500 and 'celebrating' the union of the Houses of white-rose York and red-rose Lancaster, and also the rood-screen with its subtly suggestive selection of Kings, from William the Bastard (I) and William the Red (II) to Edward the Bugger (II) and Henry the Rubbish (VI). Notable by his absence is Yo-yo's friend Richard the Crookback (III) and notable too are the number of unfeasibly curly beards, Edward the Longshank's (I) being especially spectacular. Are these hirsute flourishes historically authentic or simply stonemasons' braggadacios?
The magnificent Magnificat draws to an end and Yo-yo gets up to go. He strolls down the Nave, through the Great West Door and steps into the sunshine where
a woman screams,
a pensioner faints,
a man yells ''Pervert!'',
and a boy throws a stone. Horrified, mortified, terrified, Yo-yo is wearing...
nothing.
The body paint has vanished. He is not in the circus. Rue has tricked him. He stands on the steps of the Minster, stark-staring, bollock-naked nude, with several dozen tourists gawping, the still-grid-locked, sightseeing bus hooting, the Japanese students' cameras flashing, a bunch of blue-jumpered school-kids giggling, some flat-hatted pensioners staring. His handsflashtohisgenitals as hedartstotheleft past St Michael-le-Belfry, the church built by John Forman, Master Mason to the Minster, between 1525 and 1536. A notoriously Pentecostal/Charismatic/Clap-happy church, Guy Fawkes was allegedly baptised there on April 16th 1570 and Nudity might be encouraged if in the spirit of the Worship.
Yo-yo runs round the side of the Minster and, outside the South Door, slap into the green-bronze statue of Constantine, the Roman declared Emperor here in York on the death of his father Constantinius Chlorus in 306 A.D., who turned the Roman Empire into the Roman Church and founded a new capital in Byzantium called Constantinople. Yo-yo clambers onto the statue as the matronly teachers in the Minster School across the road cover the eyes of the young impressionables in their care.
''Get out of it!'' hisses the Emperor. ''You're spoiling the photos.''
''What?''
''Shove off.'' Constantine curses. ''People come from all over the world to photograph me. They don't want your winkie getting in the way.'' The Emperor tries to fix a grin and jabs Yo-yo's behind with his sword.
''Hey,'' says Yo-yo, ''Watch it, mate. Watch where you're sticking that thing.''
''Bugger off,'' snarls the Emperor. ''And I'm not your mate, I'm the Emperor of Rome.''
''Is it Rag Week?'' an old coot calls. ''I seen some student stunts in my time but this takes the cake.''
''Which charity is this for?'' a boxer-faced biddy butts in.
''Help the Clothesless,'' shouts a student. Everyone laughs. Yo-yo's cheeks flush, prompted partly by the pole-prodding Roman.
''Bugger off,'' repeats said Roman.
Flashlights fire.
Yo-yo slides naked over the Emperor's knee.
''Very amusing,'' says the old coot. ''Where's the collecting tin? I'll give you a copper or two.''
Yo-yo springs down from the plinth and seizes the old coot's flat cloth cap. ''Thanks,'' he says, protecting his parts with the mothball- and Brylcreem-scented chequered headgear.
''Hey,'' says the man, ''You can't use my cap as a codpiece!''
''I'll return it,'' cries Yo-yo, ''When I've finished.'' He runs for refuge into the Minster Yard's garden. He dives full-length into a bush. Which is scratchy.
''Don't think I want it back,'' mumbles the man, ''Not on my head, at any rate.''
No clothes. NO CLOTHES!! NO CLOTHES!!!
Yo-yo shivers in the shadow of the Great East Window. A little girl strolls past licking a lemon-and-lime lollipop.
''Hey,'' hisses Yo-yo, ''Hey. Little girl!'' She stops and looks at the bush. ''Can you get me some clothes?'' She twirls the lollipop round her mouth. ''Clothes?'' She stares. ''Get me some clothes. Please?''
A twig pricks his bottom. ''Look,'' he snaps, ''I'm naked. Right? Naked …''
''AHHHHHHH! Stranger Danger!!!!'' screams the girl, throwing her lollipop at Yo-yo's cloth-cap-codpiece. ''Stranger Danger! Kill, maim, gouge and destroy!''
Her mother drags her away shouting ''You pervert! Lurking in the bushes waylaying little girls! You ought to be locked up, you ought! I'll have the law on you, I will. Bloody pervert! You should have your bollocks chopped off, you should. Bloody paedophiles!''
Yo-yo shudders. What would Doctor Molasses make of this? He'll never get out of Gillworthy. There'll be tests forever and Doctor Molasses will make a fortune from books, papers, lectures and TV appearances-
Harry Gration:And now a story of brilliant, life-saving psychiatric diagnosis.
Christa Ackroyd:That's right, Harry. Remember in May we covered …
Harry Gration:…or uncovered ….
Christa Ackroyd:…the Minster’s Mystery Streaker? Well, his name is Yo-yo and he's a young boy with a history of mental illness. He's here in the studio, fully clothed this time, and he's with his Vienna-trained therapist, Doctor Molasses. Doctor Molasses, when did you first notice something wrong with this boy?
Dr Molasses:Ven he vas only a little boy, he vood run around ze hospital gardens drawing attention to hiss vinkie... It vas clearly a case of Freudian penis envy so ve doubled ze dose of strong medication but nuzzink seemed to stop him exposing himself. Ve tried everyzink but in ze end only a lobotomy seemed to verk.
Harry Gration:You mean you cut out a piece of his brain?
Dr Molasses:Ve fried it viz electricity first.
Harry Gration:Vasn’t … I mean wasn’t that a little drastic?
Dr Molasses:Ze public must be protected. Zere ver children in ze park.
Christa Ackroyd:And how do you feel now, Yoyo?
Yo-yo:(Dribbling over his chin) Blibble blibble, Christa.
He may even win the Nobel Prize for Medicine for his breakthrough in child psychiatry.
Dammit. A small, fluffy dog is approaching the bush. Sniffing. Sniffing. No. No. Don't even think about it. Sniffing. Sniffing. Yo-yo shifts, treads on a pine cone, yelps. The dog ceases sniffing. Ears pricked. Left leg lifted. Lifted. Lifted.
''Bugger off,'' mutters Yo-yo, ''Just bugger off, there's a nice doggy.''
A sudden burst of warm water splashes his bare foot but, quick as a flash(er), he remembers the cap and catches the rest. Ha ha to you, Mister Dog. He flicks a finger with a contemptuous snort.
A boy walks past. He is dressed in a red blazer, grey shirt and shorts, red and yellow striped tie. The crossed keys embroidered in gold on his blazer pocket tell Yo-yo he is a pupil at the Minster School (prep. school for girls and boys aged 3-13 and provider of choristers). Now then. This is promising.
''You there!'' booms Yo-yo. ''Stand still!'' The boy obeys, owlishly blinking behind his owlish specs. ''This is not a simple bush! This is the Bush of the Lord!'' The boy blinks again. ''The Lord is nude AND IS SEEN BY MAN. He has no clothes. I command you to give me your clothes. Ouch. Bollo
cks…'' A thistle has stabbed Yo-yo's arse. The boy seems hesitant, perhaps overawed by his Moses Moment. More thistles jab at Yo-yo's behind. ''You will come top of the BOLLOCKS class in Maths,'' booms Yo-yo, ''And top in R.E.'' Still the boy stalls. What's wrong with him? Doesn't he know God is asking a favour? ''I will make you a magnificent ARSE-BISCUITS cricketer.'' Another damn thistle. But Yo-yo knows these prep school boys, what floats their boats. ''A batsman of hundreds and a bowler of MAIDENS.'' The boy peels off his red blazer. ''More!'' booms Yo-yo. ''I WILL MAKE YOU HEAD CHORISTER! Give me your trousers! GOD WANTS YOUR TROUSERS. BUT YOU CAN KEEP YOUR STINKY PANTS! I DON'T WANT THOSE!''
Minutes later, Yo-yo is sauntering through the Minster gardens adjusting the red and yellow tie of his newly adopted clan whilst the boy shivers in a bush in white vest and Y-fronts waiting to be transformed into the greatest bowler since Spinny McSpinner took nine wickets for no runs in 1907 playing for The Edinburgh Gentlemen in a match against The Longbottom Players of Northallerton, Yorks.
He passes through the crowds, spots the old coot and hands him the cap.
''Cheers,'' he says cheekily, popping it on the bald pate as he passes.
''Whew, what's the whiff?'' sputters the coot.
''Latest French perfume,'' Yo-yo replies. ''Pee de chien. Worth a fortune.''
''Lovely,'' says the old coot, settling the cap back on his scalp.
Yo-yo returns to the front of the Minster and sits on the steps as the choir concludes their Evensong with ''Crown him with many crowns''. He chuckles as he finds a clutch of cards in the inside pocket. Pokémon cards. Ho. He can sell these at the Little Apple Bookshop just down High Petergate. That's his bus-fare covered. Suddenly his expression changes. He pats his chest. It has gone. The ring has vanished. He bursts into tears and rests his face on his knees. He feels disgraced, ashamed. His ring has vanished.
''There there, little boy. Don't take on so. What's the matter?'' It's a kind voice, a gentle voice, a voice of concern. Yo-yo raises his tear-stained face from his knees and regards a policeman.
''It's that there pervert!'' cries the mother of the little girl, ''That weirdo freak!''
''How dare you, Madam!'' says the policeman.
''Not you,'' shouts the woman. ''Him!''
''Are you accusing me of something, madam?'' Yo-yo says slowly.
''Aye,'' adds the old man. ''He's that there nudie branch, he is. That nudie weirdo who streaked through the Minster. Used my cap as a piss-pot, he did.''
''Burn the bastard, that's what I say,'' yells the mother, holding her daughter's hand tightly. ''Burn him with petrol. Set light to the fucker, that's what I say.''
''Rip his cock off,'' chirps her charming pre-teen, ''And shove it up his arse.''
''Hiding in bushes frightening the kiddies. Poor little boy. No wonder you're upset,'' says the mother. ''Fecking paedos.''
''Yes,'' sobs Yo-yo. ''He flashed his parts at me. I think he's still there.''
Quicker than a Scouser can zip up a shell-suit, an angry, medievalist mob is assembled by the Daily Stale, The Super Soaraway Scum and The Poos of the World. It is armed with torches and pitchforks, tar and feathers, large, blunted garden shears, stocks, a ducking stool and several sacks of rotten tomatoes, stinky old eggs and sloppy, wet dog-turds. York has suddenly regressed six hundred years.
''We'll protect you,'' soothes the mother. ''Find the perv!''
The mob gratuitously eggs a passing bus, overturns and fires some wheelie bins, bricks a pub window and swarms off into the city centre looking for a paediatrician to castrate.
Now Yo-yo and the policeman are alone on the steps. ''They stole my jewel,'' he says, and bursts into tears once again.
''There there,'' says the policeman. ''What jewel is this?''
''My emerald ring. They pinched my ring,'' Yo-yo sobs.
''Who pinched your ring?'' says the policeman.
''Rue and Dax and Jax. In the Hall of Mirrors,'' Yo-yo blubbers.
''Well,'' says the policeman, ''I am Constable Kipper, and I will recover your ring.'' Constable Kipper is middle-aged, going to seed, one hundred kg, with a brick-red face under a thatch of nut-brown hair.
''My ring is important,'' says Yo-yo, raising his tear-stained face. ''It's all I have left of my parents. They gassed themselves in a suicide pact. Left me a note saying they were sorry. Left me their wedding ring in memory of them.''
Constable Kipper sits on the Minster steps as Yo-yo shares his sorrows.
''It all went wrong when my father lost his job,'' sobs Yo-yo. ''He'd worked for the Highways Agency painting double yellow lines on roads for twenty years. There wasn't a double yellow line in the city that he hadn't painted. Suddenly they decided they didn't need yellow lines any more so they moved him to painting white lines but he couldn't cope. It was far too much far too soon. He had a breakdown and they sent him on compassionate leave, the bastards. My mother gave up her job as a bus-shelter inspector so she could look after him.'' Yo-yo rests his chin on his knees again. His shoulders shake. Constable Kipper wants to comfort him but can't find the words. ''Well, they both got very depressed. Money was tight and they couldn't keep up with their payments. The doors and windows were repossessed. My father sold my hair to a wigmaker but it made no difference. Finally, when the light bulbs were seized, they'd had enough. They went into the kitchen and turned on the gas. I came home from school to find them both stone-dead on the kitchen floor covered in lasagne. There was a note on the table. 'We can't go on', it said. 'Take my ring and go to your aunty. Your dinner's in the oven.' Well, it was, I thought sadly. I buried them both in the garden, ate the lasagne, packed my bag and.…''
POOOOOOOOOT!
Constable Kipper blows his nose into a large red handkerchief. ''Sorry,'' he says through his tears. He stands up, flexes his shoulders. This is his mission. This is his calling. This is his moment. The time is here. The time is now. ''Don't you worry, little boy. Don't you cry. I am Constable Kipper and I shall rescue your ring, or die trying!''
And he beetles off to the station for a nice cup of tea.
SECOND FIT
Yo-yo's Weekend Page 20