Stoned

by Graham Johns

  ***

  As it happened, Gordon and Selina had watched the entirety of the evening’s events on the hillside in a nearby field, huddled beneath a stained, dark blue Bank of Yorkshire umbrella. Nigel was with them and wondering why on earth they wanted to go for a walk in the dark. They had decided to pack light for their trip and were travelling on foot. Not owning a rucksack, Gordon had found a more traditional luggage of travellers everywhere, consisting of a red and white chequered tablecloth tied around a long stick for his most important belongings. Just some cash, a few outfits, dog food and a dozen pork pies somehow seemed enough for what Gordon felt he needed to do. After the mob had departed they had seen Mick destroy their window, Gordon muttered “Destructive bastard!” with a smile on his face. They turned and began to trudge west towards the darkened Lancashire heartlands. Gordon dropped the umbrella at the edge of his field. There was no point inciting further hatred while in foreign lands. The three of them crossed the border on a road and Selina tossed a small pebble in the honesty toll box so she didn’t feel quite so rebellious.

  “Let’s sort this out,” Gordon said.

  Selina nodded and took his hand, Nigel rolled his eyes and longed for a kip.

  ***

  Mick had a thick head the following morning as the Turkey had gone down a little too easily. He enjoyed the comparative luxury of a whole house to himself for a change. He’d showered with both the bathroom door and window wide open, but only after he’d breakfasted naked. Gordon’s farm was quiet this morning, only the occasional sheep passed by the window, butterflies sailed by in the sky and birds twittered from somewhere out in the barn. When Mick started to regain his senses he then recalled the previous night and wondered where Gordon could possibly be. What was last night really all about?

  He wasn’t sure. He needed some answers. Unusually for Mick, he concluded that he would start away from the pub and visit the Scoggins household.

  “Good morning, Mick,” Veronica said cheerily as she opened the door, “how are you this morning?”

  “Good thank you, though a little hungover, how about your good self?”

  “Yes, fine thanks. We’re off to church in a bit, can we give you a lift again?”

  Veronica waited patiently for an answer studying Mick through her glasses while Mick studied her in return. Fine slim woman. Old flame. In her seventies, tight perm and a ready twinkle in her blue eyes. Veronica was not to be taken lightly. She seemed normal as far as Mick could tell.

  “Yes, thanks, I’d forgotten it was church today,” Mick replied.

  “Really? Everyone is going I heard, it should be momentous,” Veronica said.

  “Morning, Mick,” Ernest said, coming down the stairs fixing his tie, “beautiful day for church eh?”

  “Hi, Ernest. You look well. I was wondering something, do either of you remember what you did last night?”

  Ernest shared a look with his long-held wife and then they said in almost perfect unison, “We stayed home and watched TV, there was a great programme on all about living the American dream.”

  This was mighty strange. Mick wasn’t sure what to make of it so he thought he’d just play along and see where it led, “Oh yes? And what was so good about it?”

  There was slight hesitancy before an answer this time, Veronica looked a little confused and she shared another look with Ernest before vaguely saying, “Anyone can potentially make it big over there you know.”

  Mick pressed on, “What about the history of slavery, incessant gun crime, the secretive meddling in overseas territories and the continuing internal problems with racism and religious hatred?”

  No answer this time, just furrowing of brows in deep thought. Mick felt he’d won this argument, not that anyone was actually arguing with him. Mick decided to change the subject, “I wonder if Reverend Burns will give a poetic benediction this morning?”

  “I’m sure he will,” Ernest said as he checked he had his keys, “shall we go?”

  Mick took a quick look at himself in the mirror just as he did the last time he had a lift to church and concluded once more that he needed fresh clothes but dismissed it as a trifle unimportant right now, heading outside with a nod to his friends.

  When they were in Ernest’s little red Toyota, Mick asked if they had seen Gordon or Selina recently.

  “Not since we had the village party to elect the Prime Minister I think,” said Ernest, “are they OK?”

  “You seem worried, Mick,” added Veronica.

  “I am, the last time I saw Gordon he was very down indeed. Did you see the birth certificate that was plastered about the village?”

  That really seemed to perplex them both, “What on earth are you talking about?” asked Veronica.

  “Never mind. We’re nearly at the church and I really can’t wait for a nap…I mean the service,” Mick said calmly. Neither Ernest nor Veronica commented on his sentence.

  The roads near the church seemed busier than normal and parking was at a premium. They alighted from the car and still required a bit of a walk. The church was packed to the extent that the front door had to be left open and a few rows of temporary garden seating were arranged just outside. It seemed that everyone in the village had arrived that morning as hundreds were present, including the children. Reverend Burns must’ve really hit the right note the other night!

  Such a crowd also meant that Mick couldn’t have his own pew at the rear where he could have a lie down. He considered a change of religion, he figured that with a crowd this size here, somewhere else must be wondering what they’d said to annoy their congregation. “The synagogue in Skipton must have some comfy cushions,” he thought.

  A small door to the linked vestry opened and a bright, almost blinding, light emitted from it briefly as the tall shadow of Reverend James Burns was framed dramatically for effect. He then strode forth purposefully to his pulpit, his white vestments contrasting sharply with the deep red walls, and gazed out at the assembly who were here and ready to hang on his every word. From where he was sat, crammed in to the left of the church, Mick figured the wind must’ve picked up outside because he saw the Reverend’s widow’s peak move as he began to orate, lending him a more dramatic look than normal.

  “Friends, neighbours and countrymen of our fine land of Nether-Staining! I welcome you here to our church of St. Roger the Virulent on this fine morning. Many of you have sought solace recently in the church and inside the walls of our proud nation, many have had doubts about our future and I feel it is my responsibility today to try to assuage some of the fears you may have and pave the way for us to have a successful future together as a congregation, and perhaps more importantly as a community.”

  Mick looked around him momentarily and everyone there was rapt. He didn’t know if that was unusual as he’d normally had two of his forty winks by now. He certainly had cause to stay awake for a change.

  “He that walketh righteously, and speaketh uprightly; he that despiseth the gain of oppressions, that shaketh his hands from holding of bribes, that stoppeth his ears from hearing of blood, and shutteth his eyes from seeing evil; He shall dwell on high: his place of defence shall be the munitions of rocks: bread shall be given him; his waters shall be sure. Thine eyes shall see the king in his beauty: they shall behold the land that is very far off.

  “We must live righteously and justly. Our new leaders are committed to this future and have given assurances with our recent constitutional declaration about the values that our new nation will aspire to.”

  The masses nodded as one and uttered, “Amen”. Mick followed a second later. Being widely accepted as the village wastrel, some thought he was a bit slow anyway so nobody seemed to notice or care.

  “I’m aware that many of you watched a TV show relating to the American Dream last night. I also watched that show. I thought long and hard about the message we should take from that and it’s applications.”

  He paused for a moment for extra gravitas and looked arou
nd the church at the congregation, a small smile crossed the Reverend’s features momentarily, then a moment which looked more like genuine fear and confusion, before a serene expression retook him once more.

  “I can’t help but think that the American way would be a fine way for our land to follow. A land where people can thrive, a land of opportunity and freedom. If we work together we can drive forth and prosper under a banner of heaven and honesty. Are we all together?”

  “Yes!” and then a fraction of a second later, another “Yes!”

  People stood and began to cheer. Applause began and the Reverend raised his arm to the masses to accept the congratulatory acknowledgement. Mick clapped slowly, trying not to look like he hadn’t the foggiest idea what on earth was going on.

  The applause died down and the Reverend spoke once more, “As so many of us are here this morning – indeed, I can’t think of anyone from our country who isn’t present and celebrating the national religion – the Prime Minister has asked to say some words to you all.”

  With that, he stepped down and Bob Roberts, publican and main man, took to the pulpit, with a ripple of applause and one set of whoops following him up the steps. Bob waved two clenched hands in the air but there was little emotion on his face as he moved to quell the volume. The wind from outside was apparently even moving Bob’s beard a touch, something Mick found slightly uncomfortable and for some reason he started thinking of a night he once spent with a bearded lady when the circus had come to Nether-Staining, now that had really scratched his face and groin.

  “Thank you, Reverend. Friends, neighbours and countrymen of our fine land of Nether-Staining! While it is only a short time since we declared our independence, I hope you will all feel that we have made progress. We’ve already begun to dismiss those who have no place here!”

  Bob paused for a moment to allow another miniature celebration. Mick noted that Ranjit Saha was here and that shopkeepers Annan and Hashani Singh were also present. This wasn’t even their religion. Mind you, he guessed one community gathering could be as good as another if nobody was trying to convert you.

  “Gordon Shepherd and his wife Selina, both of Lancashire heritage, have left the country and taken their dog with them! In time we will reallocate that particular farm to another deserving member of the community.”

  More whooping and this time a wolf whistle. Bob didn’t even smile at that but ploughed on.

  “Neil, Angela and I have already made progress in making decisions to shape the future of our nation and if you haven’t already read the pages of our constitution then I urge you to all have a look when you get chance. I would like to take the opportunity today presents to ask everyone to please visit us at the Dog & Duck over the coming days, once you’ve completed your daily work, as we’d like to do a census of the country. Please bring your birth certificate and current passport, which will be exchanged for a new Nether-Staining white passport which I assure you all is something to treasure.”

  Bob ceased speaking and stepped down, and Reverend Burns took back to his stage and the hymns began with a rousing rendition of ‘Jerusalem’ which pleased the Women’s Institute members no end, even though any reference to ‘England’ had been replaced by ‘Staining’. Even Mick approved of that, though he did have minor concern that he didn’t currently own a passport circling in the back of his mind.

  ***

  Mick shouldn’t have been surprised that the Dog & Duck was busy on this Sunday lunchtime after Bob’s announcement, but it took him a good half hour before he spotted a suitable lady at the bar who he might coerce into buying him a drink. There was no sign of Bob so it was Beryl who was providing the refreshments.

  This time it was Molly Button at the bar, another of Mick’s conquests. It wasn’t long since they’d had a dalliance. Molly was good looking and a good deal younger than Mick. She was in her thirties, with an hourglass figure and lustrous dark hair. Her husband, Trevor, worked nights at the mushroom farm and would most likely have retreated to bed after church. Mick knew never to overstay his welcome with the ladies and always parted on good terms because you never knew when you might be in need of an ale and be light on coinage, in Mick’s case this was always.

  Mick simply gave her one of his classic looks, a look that said, “You know you want to” but he reined his look in just slightly so it fell short of the trademark ‘Full Mickage’. With a Hole in hand, Mick retreated by himself to a small table near to Broken which was generally reserved for the pub’s hard core drinkers. From there he could have a good vantage point on proceedings.

  “MICK SUCKS!” screeched Broken.

  Mick glared at the bird, who narrowed his black pupils in his white irises and glared back, “Thanks, Broken.”

  People were visibly delighted to be receiving a white Nether-Staining passport, even though they were giving away their existing freedoms. Nobody sought to question if their new documents even had any validity anywhere at all. Still, Mick thought he might as well join the queue of eager folk, wishing to make the change at the earliest opportunity. He had his birth certificate on him at all times anyway, proudly declaring his Yorkshire heritage.

  Neil Downes was sitting at a table by the bar issuing the new passports and taking the old ones away, which consisted of throwing them into a box that was currently being guarded by Angela. When Mick reached the front of the queue, Neil took a copy of his birth certificate and asked where he lived.

  “Nowhere…and everywhere,” Mick replied.

  “You must live somewhere specific. Where do you live?” Neil asked.

  Mick thought for a moment, “Well, I spend most of my time at Gordon’s farm so that will do.” He gave the address and it was noted down.

  “Can I have your current passport please?”

  “I don’t have one, never have, what’s the point of leaving Yorkshire?” Mick asked him.

  “Don’t think you’ll ever leave Nether-Staining?”

  “No plans to, why do you ask?”

  “Without a passport to exchange, you can’t have a new one, it’s in the new rules, point two hundred and four.” Neil was deadpan in expression.

  “Oh right, oh well, I guess I’m stuck here then. No bad thing.” Mick was genuinely non-plussed by this and retreated from the bar and back to his table, and to the last dregs of his current beer, just as Bob reappeared behind the bar.

  “RIDICULOUS BEARD!” shouted Broken, which earned him a look and a nut, which Bob threw to him to quieten the pub mascot, at least for a while.

  By closing time that afternoon most of the village seemed to have acquired their new document although the small minority who had not, either through similar reasons to Mick, or by nature of their birth certificate not being credited to Yorkshire, would be dealt with in short order by the Justice Minister.

  Mick was rather bleary-eyed, having received gratis beverages all day, and decided to retreat to ‘his’ home for a rest.

  ***

  Three figures stood atop a hill in the darkness, gazing down into the distance across the urban conurbation that stretched from Manchester into many directions, the lights twinkling like beacons. One of them, a large man, was consuming a pork pie, a woman held onto his pie-less hand, the third was currently fouling the grass.

  The man said, “They’ll pay for this.”

  CHAPTER 15

  THERE ARE CERTAIN DELIGHTS PRESENT IN LIFE,

  DESIGNED TO ELICIT A “COR!”

  BUT THERE’S ALSO MUCH ABOUT, YOU KNOW,

  THAT’S LIKE NINETEEN EIGHTY FOUR.

  At Westminster, the darkened room was again in use as this committee discussed progress.

  “Do we have progress on the ground?” the officious lady enquired.

  “Yeth, we have managed to get them all to behave like ignorant foolth. They have already evicted one family and their dog. More people will be evicted ath they are found out. They won’t be able to tell that their freedom ith being eroded either. We will enthure that eve
rything we had planned will follow. You can inform the American that he can begin preparing for taking ownerthip.”

  “Excellent! Well done, Mr. Bickerdyke.”

  “It hath been quite thimple.” Maurice retreated into the shadows.

  ***

  Mick awoke just after eight the following morning with a clear head as he hadn’t been able to find any more liquor in Gordon’s house last night. He momentarily pondered the idea of starting a small personal distillery in one of the outbuildings before he realised he had no idea how one would start such a thing and that it was the consumption and not necessarily the preparation he enjoyed most. He finished his cornflakes, which he’d raided from the pantry, in blissful silence. What to do today that didn’t involve physical labour? Difficult decision. He decided he would have a wander to the Dog & Duck and see if people were still getting their new passports. He’d quite like to get a look at one as it happened.

  “I wonder how I can get a look at one?” he said aloud to himself. The house did not reply aside from a small settling noise upon the stairs.

  He was going to brush his teeth using Gordon’s toothbrush, until he noted how many of the bristles were pointing out to the side and were well past their shelf-life; and so he opted to chew on one of Nigel’s dental sticks instead which he had to admit were not all that bad, though he wished they tasted of peppermint instead of beef. There was a slight drizzle in the air as he headed out of the farmhouse so he grabbed an old umbrella. He’d wisely left an old rusty bike propped up against a wall of the house a few weeks before just so he had somewhere safe to put it, it was well-oiled and the brakes worked, but it certainly looked like something nobody would want to pinch. Mick hopped onto the fraying saddle, through which you could see yellowed foam protruding, and pedalled slowly into the village with one hand on the handlebars and the other supporting the brolly.