Stoned

by Graham Johns

  Mathew had been making occasional notes as the meeting progressed and now took centre stage, “So, everyone, just to recap on what those plans are, Bob, you were going to look at getting the crowdfunding project up and running on the internet. Veronica, your guys need to feed out a statement to the press on these incidents calling for peace. Mick, you’ve lost your wall team so it’s lucky that bit is done but keep across associating local walls and ensure everything connects up.”

  That sounded like a lot of work to Mick, especially as he didn’t own a telephone, but he said, “OK.”

  ***

  “So, did you learn anything?”

  “Not really, but I’ve theparated thome of their core team already. The actor I paid to argue with one of their committee demanded danger money afterwardth. I jutht laughed at him.”

  “Excellent work. Keep it up.”

  The phone call ended.

  CHAPTER 11

  A BIG WALL HAS GONE UP,

  THE SMALL WALLS ALL CAME DOWN,

  BUT NOW WE DON’T MUCH LIKE THE FACT,

  THAT WE’RE STUCK WITH A LOAD OF CLOWNS.

  Roger the Pure gazed at the blaze in which Honesty Boycott was currently throwing any bits of paper, wood or other flammable objects to hand, which might offer any evidence of foul play linked to the moving of the River Neth. The fire was making Roger nervous as it was rather close to the church.

  “Are you sure you have to do this? Does anyone even really care about what you’ve done? Burning seems like a heretic act,” Roger suggested.

  Honesty ignored him and continued piling things up in the pyre.

  “That’s my only copy of the bible! It might’ve been written by Jesus himself!”

  On it went. The pages briefly burnt with an impressive green flame. Roger’s distorted face reflected the glow of the fire as he reached a new height of fury and dismay.

  “You’ll burn in hell for that you know!”

  Still Roger was ignored, except for a slight shrug and grunt issuing from Honesty. Next onto the pyre was the body of a Lancastrian soldier who had had the misfortune of encountering Honesty while he relieved himself in the woods. There was a godawful smell as his remains began to be licked by the inferno. Honesty had been insistent on the burning as there was as yet no graveyard in Nether-Staining, and seeing as he was lighting a fire, they might as well save a bit of effort that would be needed in digging a hole for a body. Roger thought better than to argue and instead devoted his private thoughts to identifying a new assistant to replace Young Harold. He missed him.

  “I thought he smelt bad before he died but this is disgusting!” Honesty spat into the fire to emphasise his views on the matter.

  Roger the Pure simply moved his gaze and thoughts to the more pleasing sight of his new church.

  “It certainly is a marvellous thing to have a new church in Nether-Staining. I give you my thanks,” he said proudly.

  “Pah! I don’t care about God or your penchant for young boys, for that matter. But I said you’d get your church.” Honesty screwed up his face and then coughed loudly before spitting a big glob of mucus on the fire. “Is that all of the records you found?”

  Roger thought momentarily, “Yes.”

  “Good. Now, I think I might throw you on the fire as well.” Honesty drew a rusty dagger from his belt and waved it in Roger’s face.

  Roger almost wet himself, and worse, at this moment, “W-w-w-wait!”

  Honesty paused, “What? You want some last words? I don’t do favours for the likes of you!”

  “N-n-n-no. It’s just that I’ve remembered there is one last document, a map of how Nether-Staining was afore your changes.”

  Honesty stared hard at Roger. Doubt crept in to his mind. He wasn’t sure whether to believe Roger or not but he couldn’t take the risk of his ruse being found out. “Where is it?”

  “Safe. Safe unless something bad happens to me, in which case it would be very bad for you.”

  Honesty put the tip of his blade up the left nostril of Roger’s quivering face, “So I leave you alive and you keep the map hidden? Is that it?”

  “Precisely. Allow me to educate the local flock in the ways of our Lord in peace and no one shall ever know about the blurred lines which run around the perimeter of Nether-Staining!”

  Roger allowed himself to relax a little, he could see his life extending before him at last. Honesty whipped his blade to the side and away from Roger’s face, slicing the end of his nose in the process. Roger shrieked in pain. “It’ll be worse for you if you ever let on. I’ll stick you like a pig and roast you alive. Rest assured that I’ll always be watching you, monk.”

  Honesty spat once more for effect and then stalked off. Roger tried to stem the flow of blood from his nose with his cassock as best he could and then reflected on the safe passage which currently concealed the map, and how amazing it was what one could secrete about one’s person. It was left to Roger, feeling watched, to tend the fire until it burned itself out.

  ***

  “Can it really be true?” Mick asked Bob as they stared agog at the TV from within the cosy confines of the Dog & Duck.

  Bob remembered to close his mouth before opening it again to answer Mick’s question, “It certainly looks that way. Mind you, when have the media ever let truth get in the way of a good story?”

  “I know, but riots in Leeds? This hasn’t happened since they announced that Tetley bitter was going to be brewed in Wolverhampton. Give me a Priest’s Hole any day!”

  Gordon had wandered into the pub and joined them, “What are they rioting about?”

  “Apparently, these are non-Yorkshire folk protesting about treatment from Yorkshire folk, although there’s a load of the usual do-gooders in there as well who are just protesting because they’ve got nowt better to do! They should just get a job!” Calming down a touch, Bob checked his nice shiny gold watch and decided he had best be opening up, noted that Gordon and Mick had already come in, scratched his head, smoothed his beard and appeared a little confused as he retreated to the bar.

  “Why do people feel the need to spoil things? We had a perfectly good thing going and then the idiot brigade start introducing a pinch of violence to their prejudice. It’s not on,” Mick mused aloud.

  Gordon thought for a moment, during which time Bob had graciously returned to provide him with a fresh pint of Hole. Bob said, “It pains me to say this but I think perhaps we may need to ditch Yorkshire as well, if only so we can have control of our own affairs.”

  “You mean declare us as a new county? Or a new subset of the county? Like the North West Riding? Or the Riding of Nether-Staining? Or Nether-Riding?” Mick asked.

  This statement hung in the air briefly. Gordon shrugged as he latched onto Bob’s idea. Bob simply said, “Maybe. Maybe even a new country.”

  Mick ignored the detail of Bob’s ideas figuring that they were not for his consideration. “We’ll need a variation on our wall to enclose just the environs of our proud village…” Mick gazed thoughtfully about him, he felt that they would need to somehow keep this rather secret.

  “Perhaps we could just do it with a select few individuals with the right skills and equipment? Maybe find those farmers whose land skirts the edges of our wonderful locale and get them all involved?” Gordon felt energised by this new possibility.

  “Shall we put it to the committee?” Mick asked.

  Gordon’s energy level seemed to sap just a little, he emitted a sigh and then said, “I suppose we best had.”

  ***

  “It sounds to me like you’re looking at ever increasing degrees of isolation,” Reverend Burns stated, “Likewise, two people lying close together can keep each other warm. But how can one be warm alone?”

  Mathew’s ears pricked up, “Let nobody feel alone, Reverend, I will happily keep them nice and warm.”

  “That’s what we’re afraid of, you smutty bastard, we might stick you in the field with the sheep,” Gordon remarked.
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  “Ooooh, yes,” Mathew said with a pout that was speedily followed by a broad grin, “can I borrow your special velcro gloves and oversized wellies?” He was thankfully out of range of a throttling from Gordon, but did receive an icy glare.

  “We’re not talking about doing this new wall building overtly, more of a secret insurance policy,” Mick said, back on topic.

  “Plus it’ll help keep the Nether-Staining flock together, they’ve been wandering off towards Skipton recently. I’m fairly sure Nigel’s lost weight with having to do his bit in rounding them all up,” Gordon added.

  “I’m not at all sure about this Riding of Nether-Staining idea,” Veronica said, “if you’re suggesting we go it alone, we can’t very well stay joined at the hip can we?”

  “I agree,” said Ranjit, “we’re either in or out. Look at the Brexit mess. You can’t have your cake and eat it.”

  “So do we just stick up our own village wall, relax and see what happens? Or do we get on the front foot and do this and proclaim ourselves as a new county? Or a new country? God’s own!” Gordon stated proudly, plagiarising Bob’s idea, though Bob simply smiled.

  There were a few uneasy looks exchanged around Mathew’s lounge. A left-over balloon from a recent gym promotion evening took this moment to deflate audibly with a high-pitched squeal. Only when deflated did it become obvious that it was actually a condom, not that anyone could be bothered to comment and fuel Mathew’s fire. The half-light of evening wasn’t helping a great deal and squinting was required. Mathew switched the light on which led to a few shielding their eyes from the glare.

  Gordon sensed the mild uneasiness, “One step at a time maybe? OK.”

  Enough said.

  “How’s the crowdfunding going?” Mathew asked Bob.

  In response, Bob extracted a shiny new laptop from a leather case and booted it up. He deftly got into a relevant webpage and proudly showed the screen to everyone in the room. “Voila! I have a feeling this might need modifying at some point after Gordon’s ideas, but the ‘Keep the White Rose in Bloom’ message now has donors coming forward from across the globe. I think some folks might be getting their wires crossed though as we’ve just had a sizeable donation from the Lancaster Horticultural Society.”

  “Generous bastards,” Gordon muttered.

  The figure on the screen updated itself as they were discussing it. It now stood at £48,123.01.

  “Is this in addition to the money you already told us about?” Veronica asked.

  “Sure is,” Bob said with a nod, “that keeps going up too.”

  “Do we know who donated the penny?” Ernest asked.

  “Someone who thought they were bidding in an online auction I suspect,” Bob replied, “more fool them!”

  “Any reaction to our press statement?” Mathew asked Veronica.

  “Only very brief positive receipt was reported from the public to say that they seem to approve. Nothing more to say,” Veronica said with an air of contentment.

  There were a few nods around the room.

  “Shall we tell Mr. Bickerdyke anything about this meeting?” Mick asked.

  There were a few shakes of heads this time.

  “OK, we’ll keep it to ourselves. Pub anyone?” Mick enquired hopefully.

  ***

  The TV was quietly going about its business in as unobtrusive a way as it could while it hung from the pub wall. It is amazing how mankind spends so long perfecting inventions which can be ignored so easily. The humble radio would’ve been jealous if it was capable of feelings. Even more amazing is how much presenters are paid to talk on such devices when in essence they are just adding to global warming from the heat of their mouths. That said, it is rather impressive how one word from the TV can instantly draw attention from a noisy room. In this case the word was “Yorkshire” and the room was in the Dog & Duck.

  “In Yorkshire now, hot on the heels of the recent changes to local government, we’ve heard that a sizeable piece of land on the Yorkshire-Lancashire border has been earmarked for sale to an, as yet unnamed, American investor for the purpose of creating a luxury hotel and golf course.

  The land, a part of the Yorkshire Dales National Park, sits in prime unspoilt countryside and is coincidentally within the locale of the recently headline-grabbing community of Nether-Staining. Conservation groups are angered by the decision, as are British nationalists who are furious at yet more foreign ownership of national assets. No reason has been given for the sale and no details of who is responsible for the decision to sell such pristine countryside either. We will bring you more news when we get it.”

  Never before or since has so much beer been spat onto the floor of the Dog & Duck at one time, even including when a previous landlord of yore, Fred Cherry, was convicted for deliberately poisoning the beer during the War of the Roses. Fred was executed using the most terrible torture of blunt knives and nettles for his sins, before his body found its way into pies across the border in Lancashire. What a jape that was for those in Yorkshire who knew about it and passed on the tale, although they never looked at a ‘cherry’ pie in quite the same way ever again.

  Gordon wiped his chin. As did Mick. As did Ernest. As did everyone else in earshot during a busy lunchtime.

  “What the hell?” Gordon half-shouted, not quite believing what he’d just heard.

  “I think you heard it right! We need to find out what’s going on and fast if they think they can flog off the Dales to the highest bidder!” Ernest’s normal calm had fast faded and he was furious also.

  Mick simply stared. It seemed that things were starting to hot up and motives becoming clearer.

  “Time to see Mr. Bickerdyke again?” Ernest asked Gordon.

  “One would think so.” Gordon shook his head as he realised he’d be travelling long-distance by tractor again. Diesel wasn’t cheap, even for a farmer.

  “Let’s take my car,” said Ernest.

  Phew.

  ***

  “I had a feeling you’d be coming over,” Maurice said calmly, “I can’t quite believe that we are in thith predicament.”

  The three friends stared at Maurice, attempting to determine if he was being genuine or a real git.

  “Do you know who’s behind it?” Ernest asked.

  He shook his head. “I can talk to a few people and let you know what I find out though?”

  Gordon, Mick and Ernest remained silent and took on an impatient air. Maurice looked at them and finally had to ask, “What?”

  “Go on then!” Gordon said urgently.

  “Yeah, make some calls,” Mick added.

  “What? With you earwigging?” Maurice protested.

  Nods of heads.

  He picked up his mobile phone and selected someone from his contacts list before waiting for a connection.

  “Hello? Mr. Bickerdyke here, how are you?”

  “Mm-hmm, good,” Maurice said into the ether and then listened further.

  “I have local people here with me who are wondering who might be buying the land in the Daleth, can you tell me who it ith?”

  “Really? Are you thertain?” He seemed pretty sincere to the observers.

  “Right. Well I’ll relay that information. Thank you.”

  He put the phone down. The three stares that he’d been trying to ignore were still present.

  “It would appear that nobody knowth who ith buying the area. An umbrella corporation ith involved. I’m told, however, that whoever it may be, ‘You don’t know him’ by my colleague.”

  Ernest scratched his chin in thought. Gordon tweaked his mutton chops. Mick groomed his hair.

  “Well, if others are going to sell our land off to foreigners, I guess we have no choice but to keep going in our fight,” Ernest said.

  “Bastards,” Gordon added for effect.

  “Aliens all over again, albeit of a different and more terrestrial kind,” Mick said.

  “Don’t start that again, Mick,” Gordon remarked imp
atiently.

  “Can I enquire what you’ll do now?” Maurice asked.

  Ernest stepped in to answer, “You can certainly enquire, Maurice, it seems that we’ve got to go further than we’d hoped we’d need to go. If we don’t get protection from Yorkshire or Lancashire or whatever our confused new county is called then we have to protect ourselves from the people on high. Good day to you, we’ve got work to do.”

  The intrepid three trooped from Maurice’s office in line from least volume to most, with Gordon taking a little time to lever himself from his chair. Maurice allowed himself a smile.

  ***

  The committee was once more in session and readying a statement to the press. Reverend Burns was shaking his head at the announcement to follow which he believed could deliver no long term positive outcome. Being a religious man, he didn’t much care for being the Devil’s Advocate, though he stuck to his guns against the other members. Democracy, however, carried the vote.

  The television carried the news of the statement to the masses:

  “Back in Yorkshire now for breaking news…in response to the intended sale of a large parcel of land in the Yorkshire Dales National Park in the Nether-Staining region, local residents have just initiated plans to declare themselves a new nation state. They say they have sealed their borders and that any land sale will not be permitted to go ahead as this is a direct violation of their constitution. It is currently unclear whether this actually has any legal standing whatsoever but we will come back to you when our legal experts have had chance to study the implications. Watch this space.”

  CHAPTER 12

  FREEDOM IS A BLESSING,

  ENJOY IT WHILE YOU CAN,

  FOR AS QUICK AS IT APPEARS,

  IT CAN SURE GO DOWN THE PAN.

  Change is a thing that many people are uncomfortable with. Even a change which is undeniably positive and easy to understand will have its detractors, usually by those who have been comfortable with the status quo for rather too long. Just look at sliced bread, the standard to which all of the best things are compared, as even this when first cut into equal widths was met with “It doesn’t stay fresh as long, does it?” or “My arm is noticeably weaker since I stopped having to use the bread knife.”