The Darling Buds of June

by Frankie Lassut

  And … just for you dear reader, an excerpt from the never been seen in yonks, actual manuscript of …

  Roman and Julia!

  By OG!

  Set a long time ago in Stourbridge.

  Julia: Roman, Roman, wherefore art the art that thou dost do?

  Roman: I left it drying in the barn Julie. How didst thy know I wast a painter of beautiful scenery? Tis my secret and my escape from this madde world.

  Julia: Why Roman my love, thou hast paint all over thy former clean white shirt. Thou proud yet finicky mother wilst go madde shouldst she see it, so take it off so I can washe it for thee.

  Roman: But Julia, although we are in the sweetest grasp of lovve unsealed, I findeth myself a little coy at stripping in front of thee, lest thou turn round and shutte thine hungry feminine eyes. Tis my upbringing I thinke, a shrewish religious and prudde mother thingge, coupled with spouse timid religious father.

  Julia: Hmmm! If I goest first and expose my generous bosom to thee, wilt thou follow me?

  Roman: Well Julia, ok, butte I am a little nervous scared and guilty, even though my moutthe dribbles at suche a thoughtte. But what if someone findeth outte? Whatte if our families findde out? You knowwe they dontte like each other muchhe anyway, mostly because of your and your parenttes sinful thoughttes which are unchristianne.

  Julia: Who can findde outte? I’ll only telle my best friende all details. And worrye youe notte, it isn’t true what people saye aboutte her. She is notte the local gossippe. Youre parenttes wilt never knowwe.

  Idyllic local leaf shadows on an Alcester tree.

  To be continued (?) (although, you could maybe guess what happeneth?)

  This is not a painting by Roman. (It was this or a half-eaten bag of chips to make you think you were in Stratford, but we don’t like to be deceptive).

  ***

  Month 4

  “Hello! Mole again! Here are the minutes of the latest FAT Bs meeting. As a big fat ‘development’ cheque has not yet landed on the floor of the council house, despite our feature on the Stratford litter trail, we the FAT Bs have decided to take matters into our own hands. One of our younger members James (44), a joiner, saw a programme the other night on the documentary channel. James has the town’s only satellite dish, which we all think very advanced for Alcester (it was actually on the ‘things to see’ list on our tourist trail for a while, until someone got a WAP phone and the advanced technology in a small town game was up).

  The programme was dedicated to ‘wreck’ scuba diving, a very interesting pastime. We have two problems though, the river isn’t deep enough, and there are no wrecks in it, only ducks ‘on it’ (sometimes ‘in it’ when they feed); and even then if we spell them properly in the Queen’s English, as suggested by Muriel, and call them ‘Decks’, which is close to ‘wrecks’ it just wouldn’t do.

  That proposal was rejected, although Muriel did receive a round of applause and a free strip of raffle tickets for being so creative. She actually won a bottle of wine! A proposal to say ‘well done Muriel! Well deserved!’ was seconded, and spoken by Chairman Ken. Our meetings are ‘such good fun!’

  A proposal was then made by Roger (68), who worked on the Aswan Dam. Well, at least that’s what we think he said, it may have been, ‘Damn! Got drunk and attacked by a swan?’. He explained to us that sometimes (all the time!), when a dam is constructed, it’s fun to evacuate and then flood out beautiful peaceful villages, but not as much fun as when the evacuation order is somehow ‘overlooked’.

  We have a nearby rather grey and quiet village called Studley (pro: Studloooy), a bunny hop away up the A435.

  We foresee operation ‘Flood Studloooy’ as being a great success, and after we have done the necessary work, we will hopefully get funding to buy a snazzy top of the range mini bus to take tourists who want to scuba dive and see an authentic ‘underwater’ village in Wakespeare Country … with ‘real skeletons!’

  Real ‘bone’ should add interest, and maybe even attract ghouls, collectors of gold and jewellery (a temporary attraction, at extra cost), medical people, and even trainee surgeons who are unsatisfied with glossy diagrams or rubber people. Of course, there would be a problem with the flooding of the village, but a proposal by Henry (52), a gardener, solved this seemingly unsolvable riddle. This idea was so good, that Lucy (72), donated her raffle prize of a very small box of Swiss chocolates with chocolate flavouring to Henry, and Chairman Ken (68), gave another ‘Well done!’ piece of voiced praise to Him.

  He ate the chocolates straight away, while explaining that ‘if he took them home, the wife would make him give them to the dog (he loves chocolate and hates his dog, a black Labrador called … Chocolate (the irony is, the dog is ‘real’ chocolate). Surely his wife is to blame and in need of a bollocking and not the dog? We didn’t vote on this as it remained a thought in my head … much safer there. Henry’s proposal was this (unanimously passed by the way).

  We FAT Bs are going to buy 15 garden hoses and fifteen sets of overalls (petty cash limit), and our sewing and tapestry expert is then going to make fifteen iron on badges, as they would take her ages to sew on. We, the fifteen, are then off to Studley to door knock, and offer ourselves out as garden waterers called ‘Hoseban Waterers’, a group of plant loving rebel horticulturalists who hate hosepipe bans, and think that plants and grass should have rights, especially in a heat wave. Then, all we need do is persuade fifteen people to hire us. Once hired, we explain that we have to work under the cloak of darkness so as not to be detected by snooping ‘hosepipe ban immune’ Studley officials. The rest is easy.

  We leave the pipes running, and then run to the village outskirts and wait. Hey presto! At Sun up, we have a lake! If there are any stray bodies floating around the edge, we will simply take them home, remove any valuables, and then bury them in the Gillian Wakespeare plot. I must say, it’s a genius plot.”

  HERE LIES OUR GILLIAN, THE BARDESS OF ALCESTER UPON ARROW. And her husband Stan Stashaway.

  (And a few bods from Studloooy).

  … If only we had a headstone eh?!

  ***

  But Someone Must Have Blabbed!

  “After the great petty expense of buying hosepipes and overalls, and driving to Studley, the residents flatly refused to let us use their taps. Another plan was needed, so, we had our monthly meeting a week early.

  Claude (68), came up with the bright idea that we’d been wasting our time anyway, as the special scuba minibus with LCD screens and our own scuba diving movies playing, in which we hoped to ferry divers, may break down or something, and then we’d be stuck (it was a pity, because another Gertie (79), had always wanted to be one of those bus tour guides with a mic). Mix that with the fact that if we got caught on the main road with no tax disc, and the driver Linda with no driving licence, we could attract some really bad publicity, and lose any chance of a fat grant. This attracted some agreeable nods of heads and grunts. We needed another plan. Claude then mentioned Oversley Green, a very nearby money honey pot.

  We do sometimes allow the residents of Oversley Green to walk our streets and shop, but only under supervision, as being stinking rich and therefore without a care in the world coupled with lives of non ‘work’, translates into ‘non excitement.’ Kleptomania is rife amongst the Oversley Green community as it is amongst the Studley populous (although it must be said, the folk of Studley are happy with the cheaper items, such as local handmade produce); it is like a drug to them. That was it then. We unanimously decided to forget Studley, and concentrate on Oversley Green. It would serve them right for having Rolls Royces.

  Claude’s Scuba Lake idea went like this.

  We actually have two rivers. The Arrow, as already mentioned and the Alne, which joins it. The River Alne meanders almost alongside Oversley Green, so Claude thought that if we ran a garden hose from the river to Oversley Green one night, we could siphon the water through and create our lake like that. ‘Maybe we could use a fire brigade hose!’ Shouted som
eone from the back of the room ... which was a bit silly, but it was noted.

  Of course, that means the jewellery would be much finer on the corpses and in drawers (nor simply costume jewellery and cheap bling as would have been the case with Studley), and so we could charge the jewellery and general treasure collecting divers much more.

  This idea won a free strip of raffle tickets, but on this occasion Claude was not fortunate enough to win any of the fantastic prizes, which included a picture frame made from plastic pegs, by Peggy (73). She calls them Peggy’s Plastic Peg Picture Pframes (silent P), and they are available in about five different colours (we don’t think anyone in Oversley Green owns one, but there could be one or two in Studley).

  She calls this little venture 6p enterprises, but warns anyone interested that 6p doesn’t mean they cost 6p (just thought that was worth mentioning in case of confusion). Peggy says that if you buy one (98p) and get fed up of it (as you may do if you don’t drink alcohol regularly), just soak it in warm water for a while, which will weaken the flour and water glue (cleverly coloured to the same colour as the pegs using food colouring), take the frame apart, and use the pegs to hang your washing out.

  Angela (57), then pointed out that no one she knew had a mouth big enough to go over the end of a fire engine’s hosepipe, although a few local gossips she knew came pretty ‘damn’ close.

  Adam (87), misheard, got a little confused, and said that building a dam was a good idea, as he had worked in a biscuit factory once.

  Senility is fun isn’t it!

  He was given the picture frame to shut him up. He promptly threw it on the floor and broke it, then returned to the sanctuary of sleep. Mamie (84), put forward a proposal that it was a good job he didn’t snore. We voted, and decided she was correct in her statement. Instead of a free strip of raffle tickets as a reward, she said she was happy to take the pegs, as she was having to double up at home (i.e. two shirts to one peg), as most of hers had broken. We all took a minute or two to pick them up for her, as they had scattered everywhere.

  When we had all sat down again, Claude raised his hand and requested a chance to finish. We all agreed that he should, and so, he carried on. Apparently, if we ran the fire hose from the river, across the Stratford Road, and onto the outskirts of Oversley Green, we could then cut a thinner garden hose into twelve inch pieces, and stick five or six of them into the end. These could be sealed into the fire hose using bathroom sealer, and upon drying (which would probably be the next night, so we would have to cover the end of the hose with grass and things in order to save ourselves from being rumbled), eight of us could go back, and the six with the strongest lungs could take a hose each in their mouth, and on a continuous count of five, all suck for five seconds … etc., the others could act as lookouts.

  This sounded like a good idea, until our youngest member Apple Blossom Sunset, 13, piped up, and said that what if, when the water was close to the business end of the hose, a lorry ran over the hose? Water squirting out of several sets of ears perhaps?

  After a vote, this seemed like something that could happen, yet Apple Blossom refused either a strip of raffle tickets, or even her choice of prizes. There again, what does a teenager want with a bar of carbolic soap, a nailbrush, or a rolling pin? They don’t know they’re born. God Almighty, what most of the FAT Bs could have done with those treasures during the war!

  She said she’d like an I-pod, to which Ernest replied that she could have some pea pods from his garden. She called him a ‘spanner’? Which are useful, aren’t they? Maybe not in this case? Must be one of those new fangled terms? The meeting was then closed, and we all went out to a pub, hoping to not bump into the Lord Mayor, as none of us had that much cash in our pockets.”

  ***

  SOMETHING TASTILY SPECIAL FROM THE KITCHEN OF STAN STASHAWAY

  It’s MEEE again! Stan Stashaway, the husband of Gillian Stashaway née Benedict nay Wakespeare, had an acre of land where he grew his own organic vegetables, as it was difficult to get pesticides in those days; they also kept a few pigs. Stan therefore, like all other gardeners of his time, had to rely on bull***t, as do some officials now. He, together with fantastic beef from a local farmer used to make a lovely, crazily yummy beef stew in his cottage, where Gillian and he lived. He called it Stan Stashaway’s pottage. The recipe may soon be given a new lease of life, and may be available at certain times in one of the locals? Who knows? Public nagging may bring it to life again?

  Stan Stashaway’s Pottage

  (Which he maketh in his cottage)

  A sonnet by OUR Gill!

  © Stan Stashaway

  Stan’s pottage tasteth nice to me,

  And thou wouldst like it too no doubt,

  Of veg and beast the best he doth use,

  And herbs and spices to addest clout.

  Though spice thou cannot leave out, shouldst thy fear,

  A badde time on thy chamber pot,

  Just the herbs would then be nice,

  And thy bottom wouldst not then later, burn hotte.

  But fit and healthy from dung grown veg thou woulds gette,

  In Alcester it is the bestte stew going,

  A healthy air would surround you,

  And Stan’s pottage parties you could be throwing.

  So we hope that you future Alcester folke,

  About Stan Stashaway’s Pottage, talke thy wille,

  Maybe then to keep his culinary name a going,

  Many a local and touriste gutte, with his goode food fully fille.

  And guess what? Evo Nelliott (co-creator) and myself went there to a small ‘do’ one night when it seemed that the place was interested in the little fabulous project. We took the suggestion that the cafe and/or the local pubs might like to sell Stan’s Pottage? And even took them a T shirt with Gillian on the front. Was it appreciated?

  LOL! Naaaaaaaaaaaa!

  It has been recorded that Gillian, when not cleaning, would help Stan with the mini farm, and was rumoured to have befriended and trained a little pig which she called Hammy. This innocent looking animal was, unbeknown to humans, very arty and would sit in the trained recital position and oink out verse. Unfortunately, pigs are rather like working class humans, and the other pigs could be very rude when Hammy was reciting; they didn’t want him to rise above his position as ‘one of them’ and become ‘one of THEM!’ There is one surviving pencil sketch of Hammy reciting, with the verse he is oinking out, provided by his trainer, Gillian ... which I have taken the liberty of updating, without harming it of course. The picture I made is at the end of the story as a little extra treat for you (you are allowed to get excited).

  ***

  Month 5

  “Hi everyone! Mole here again. Here are the latest minutes.

  ANOTHER METHOD OF FLOODING STUDLOOOY AND OVERSLEY GREEN.

  At this meeting of the FAT Bs, Edward (78), and an ex scientist, came up with a great plan, which caused some excitement. A little about Edward, off the record …

  Edward is a very clever man. He lives in his parent’s house, quite a nice property near the River Arrow. His is a strange story, in as much as he didn’t get on with his parents too well, because he kept staining the sheets on his bed doing experiments (of the chemical variety). His mum would moan at him and then at his father, who she wanted to go moan at Edward too; as so often happens in families where parents don’t understand creativity. Edward though, being ‘very’ creative, spent a lot of time locked away (which made his mum moan even more, as she wanted him to go out and play with his mates, as is ‘normal’), making anything that would possibly blow up the world, or at least make it bubble, froth, smoke or change colour.

  Now, as a result of the domestic dysfunction, Edward had exhausting arguments with his mum, his dad, and the pair of them. His dad argued with him and his mum, and his mum argued with him, and his dad. Well, it’s something to do on a rainy day in Alcester. They didn’t have many visitors. Edward went on to become a scientist (he ev
entually dropped the creativity and went logical and sensible).

  One day though, some years ago, his parents just seemed to disappear, and have never been seen since. We all think that Edward went creative again and did a clever shrinking act on them, and now keeps them both in a jar under the sink (or separate jars maybe?). Well, either that or there are bodies in his cellar?”

  ***

  “After the other methods with hosepipes were abandoned, and the whole project was almost shelved, good old Edward said that he had a last ditch fool proof method of finally flooding Oversley Green, and therefore getting Alcester’s much craved scuba diving lake. Edith (92), said that the lake could be stocked with trout and salmon, and we could therefore offer fishing too. This was seconded by Ged (45), the local fishmonger, on condition that he could do the rod and boat hire and sell the licences. This was agreed by most, and a successful deciding vote was cast.