Yo-yo's Weekend
Page 30
22.
Conversation with a Head
HOLY Trinity Church is a twelfth century foundation. Its stained-glass dates from the fifteenth century and it is notable for its eighteenth century box-pews. The church is largely unchanged in the last two hundred years. Sadly no longer used, it is under the care of the Church Conservation Fund. It has an interesting graveyard with many moss-covered headstones and an intriguing plaque on the wall reading
Beneath is depoited
All that was mortal of ANN the Wife of
WILLIAM APPLEBY
Who died the 3rd of August 1784
Aged (indecipherable)
Here
Alo rets the remains of
WILLIAM APPLEBY.
He died the (indecipherable)
Aged 8 (presumably there is a second number indecipherable)
This stone also …… The woman …..
What woman? Not Mrs Margaret Smith, late of Scarborough, who died in this Parih June the 15th 1762 aged 42 years, because she is under a slab in the Nave.
No. Yo-yo has come to see the Head. Leaning on the stone
SACRED
To the Memory of
BARNARD WATSON
Who died May the 3rd 1793
In the 33rd Year of his age
he pouts his freshly glossed lips and waits.
The Seventh Earl of Northumberland is in a sour mood. This is not entirely unexpected. His body is somewhere in a river and his head is here in Holy Trinity. Once the most powerful man in the kingdom, he was executed for treason on August 22nd 1572.
''Eh up, Yo-yo,'' says Northumberland's Head. Yo-yo nods acknowledgement. ''You haven't changed a bit. You don't look a day over eight.''
''I'm nearly fourteen,'' growls Yo-yo. ''And I'm dressed as a girl.''
''Well, my eyes aren't what they were,'' says the Earl. ''It's something that happens when your head gets cut off.'' Yo-yo groans. He had forgotten how self-pitying the Head could be. ''You know what it's like?'' the Head continues, ''To have your head cut off? No, you don't. Nobody can if they haven't gone through it. My friend the Duke of York had his head spiked on Micklegate Bar. It stayed there for years. You any idea what it's like, to look at your own head every day, and see your head looking back at you?''
''No,'' mutters Yo-yo impatiently.
''Not nice,'' says the Earl, ''Specially when your head's wearing a paper crown. Humiliating, that's what it is, humiliating.''
''I'm sure it is,'' says Yo-yo. ''Look, I've got this plan…''
''Specially when you should have had a real crown, a golden crown, on your head. Thank God for his son!''
''Richard the Third.''
''Richard the Fourth. Call yourself a Yorkshireman?''
''How dare you!'' says Yo-yo. ''Do I look like a skinflint?''
''Have you been to the Pavement?'' the Earl goes on, ''That's where they did me. When my head came off, I'd just finished a good luncheon of pheasant and truffles. Didn't even give me time to digest it, the bastards. Just saw the inside of a basket, then a howling crowd, heard a thuggish peasant voice cry 'Behold the Head of a Traitor!' ... Traitor! Me! I was trying to save the country! Bloody Protestants! Bloody Virgin Queens! Can't stand 'em. Then three or four seconds, and that's it. All over. There were pools of blood all over the scaffold. Seeing your own Head in someone else's basket is enough to spoil anyone's digestion. I can still taste that pheasant, the bastards.''
''Ellen had nothing,'' Yo-yo says smartly. ''She starved to death.''
''Should've eaten her parents,'' sniffs the Earl's Head. ''I would've.''
''They died of plague!'' Yo-yo protests.
''So?'' says the Earl. ''She was going to die anyway. Least she could've died on a full stomach. I told her that at the time.''
''Right,'' says Yo-yo.
''You know who I was? Most powerful man in England, me, from the most powerful family.'' The Head glares defiantly. ''Bloody traitor? I don't think so. You know who my Dad was?''
''Yes,'' says Yo-yo. ''He had a fling with Ann Boleyn and got his head chopped off by Henry the Eighth.''
''Bollocks to you,'' snarls the Head. ''He was engaged to Ann Boleyn. Hulking Henry stole him off her and then had him killed to shut him up. I was eight at the time. Eight. Saw my daddy's head rolling into a basket. Bloody Tudors. I hate 'em. My granddaddy, then.''
''Henry Algernon? Didn't do much,'' sniffs Yo-yo. ''Fought for the King against the Cornish Rebels.''
''OK, smarty-pants,'' snarls the head. ''My great granddaddy.''
''Detained by Edward IV 'cos he supported Lancaster against the Yorkists, and his daddy fought against us at Wakefield, got killed at Towton, then he switched sides, supported Richard at Bosworth but did sod all to help him,'' says Yo-yo dismissively. ''Looks like treason's in your blood.''
The Head gets angry. ''Come here and say that! Come here!''
''What you gonna do?'' sneers Yo-yo. ''Hit me with your neck-stump? You mean your great great whatever, Harry Hotspur, 2nd Earl of Northumberland.''
''Aye.'' A tear rolls down the withered cheeks. ''That were my ancestor, that were.''
''Fought the Scots then joined with his father to depose Richard the Second,'' says Yo-yo, detecting a pattern. ''Then joined with the Welsh under Owain Glyndywr to fight the very man he'd put on the throne, Henry IV. Killed at the Battle of Shrewsbury when he lifted his visor to get some fresh air and was hit in the mouth by an arrow. Body impaled on a spear, then quartered and the head spiked ….ha, on York Gates in 1403. Do you see him often?''
''We defended the kingdom,'' the Head protests.
''You're a family of traitors,'' Yo-yo retorts. ''You betrayed every king. You all got what you deserved, and by the way, they got your head in one slice. Not like poor Monmouth. Six or seven goes at him, you know. Twitching and moaning whilst Ketch struck at his neck. Blunt axe, you know. Makes an awful mess. In the end, Ketch had to sever the cords with a butcher's knife. So shut your face.''
The Head sulks for a moment, then turns on Yo-yo. ''Why are you dressed as a girl?''
''It's a disguise.''
''It's crap. You look like Lily Gusset. You've got your make-up all wrong.''
Yo-yo lets this pass. ''So will you help me?''
''What, with your make-up? I haven't got any hands, have I?'' The Head sniffs. ''By the way, you need a bra. Your bust's beginning to show.''
''Bollocks!'' says Yo-yo. ''I'm still six stone seven and five foot three. I play football and swim twice a week. I do not have man-jugs. And anyway, I've got a bra.''
''Put that frilly black one on,'' says the Head. ''You'll soon pull the boys.''
''I don't want to pull the boys,'' Yo-yo snaps. ''Can we get back to business?''
''Doctor Molasses might like it.''
''It hasn't got a clipboard,'' snarls Yo-yo. ''Come on! Focus! I don't have much time.''
''Huh,'' sniffs the Head, ''Four hundred and some years with a body in one place, my head in another, waiting for someone to put them together .... and you don't have time ... wait till you're dead. You'll find out the meaning of time then.''
''I'm sorry,'' says Yo-yo, wanting to kick the self-pitying bonce into the bushes.
''My head was spiked on Micklegate Bar. You know what it's like? To have your head spiked? Very uncomfortable, having a spike shoved up your throat.''
''I imagine it's a regular pain in the neck,'' Yo-yo remarks.
''Oh ho ho ho,'' the Head says, ''Very witty, very sarcarstic. A regular pain in the neck, har har. Mind you, there's a great view from the Bar. I could see my house from up there.''
''Yeah, yeah.'' Yo-yo looks at his pink plastic watch. Barbie's hands are already pointing to Ken forty-five.
''Up there for years, I was. Bloody ravens pecking me, fecking flies feasting on me….''
''Right-o,'' says Yo-yo.
''And my body flung into the Foss. Not even the Ouse! The Foss! Have you been to the Foss? Piddling little
stream that goes nowhere.'' The Head sniffs again.
''Doesn't it go to Fountains Abbey?''
''You're such a smart-arse,'' the Head replies. ''Even dressed as a girlie, you're a smart-arse. No wonder you haven't got any friends. Have you been to Fountains Abbey? A load of old stones and broken-down buildings. What would my body do there?''
''It's very interesting,'' says Yo-yo. ''I went there once with my mother and Stins. We had a picnic lunch and peaches with cream.''
''Very lovely,'' says the Duke's head sarcastically, ''Very delicious. Not so delicious when you're dead.''
''You must meet a load of monks.''
''Yeah, monks. Even lovelier. They spend all their time chanting and praying.''
''I've got this plan…''
''Very boring. Counting rosaries, genuflecting, bells, smells and candles...''
''This plan…''
''Buggering boys round the back of the cloisters…''
''Plan.''
''Up with the skirts and in with the carrots…'' The Head glares at Yo-yo. ''Why should I help you recover your ring?''
'' 'Cos I can help you.''
''How can you help? My body's in one place, my head's in another. Can you put the back together? You gonna go fishing in the Foss for my bones?''
''I can defend you,'' Yo-yo says weakly, ''Here with the Ghost Walkers who misrepresent you. Like I do with Ellen and Sister Theresa.''
''Maybe I like being misrepresented,'' says the Head. ''Maybe I'm not so easily bought, unlike Ellen and Sister Theresa. They're sluts for the tourists, specially Ellen. She'll do anything to get in the limelight. Bloody ghosts. Just 'cos they can walk through walls, they think they're something special. Just a bloody party-trick, that is. Bloody ghosts.''
''Ay-yor,'' Yo-yo laments. ''You're the sulkiest head I've ever had!''
''Well, that's 'cos my body's somewhere up near bloody Ripon!'' scowls the head. ''And you wouldn't wish that on your very worst enemy.''
''It was 1572,'' says Yo-yo. ''Get over it.''
''One of the most powerful men in England,'' says the Duke's Head, ''Betrayed by the Scots ... bloody Jocko bastards... to a slip of a girl, and a ginger girl at that.'' He glares at Yo-yo. ''Hey, you're a red-head. And you're a girl. AND you got a tartan rucksack. It's you. You're the Virgin Queen!'' And the head starts shouting ''Help, help, the Virgin Queen! Help, it's the Virgin Queen!''
''Hush,'' says Yo-yo. ''People are staring.''
''Oh, diddums,'' says the Head. ''Help, help, the Virgin Queen!''
A couple of elderly tourists are watching from the gate.
''Help, help, the Virgin Queen!''
Yo-yo shoulders his rucksack with a muttered ''Gotta go, Head.''
''Oh, you go!'' sniffs the head. ''Have a good time! See if I care! Bloody kids! Can't even spend an hour with us any more. What've we done to deserve that treatment, eh? Bloody kids,'' the head sulks. ''Bloody carrot-tops. Can't trust them an inch.''
''Sorry,'' Yo-yo tells the elderly tourists. ''It's not me that's the virgin. I love sex, me. Grrrrr. Bit o' rumpy, slap-and-tickle, find the sausage…. Yeah, do it all the time, me…..twenty times a day….woof woof.'' He slaps his thigh and winks. However, the failure of the Duke of Northumberland's Head to help out with the Plan is not only a blow, it is also a mystery. What isn't a mystery is