Slinky Jane

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Blast ’em! Damn and blast the pluddy things!’

  ‘Aw, old ’un, your legs?’

  ‘Blast ’em!’

  ‘They give way?’

  ‘Blast…blast you!’ Grandpop punched at his useless legs. Then glaring up at Harry he cried, ‘I ain’t goin’ in that barrer. Hump me on your back, back through the woods. I ain’t gonna be no laughing stock, not at my time, I ain’t.’

  ‘I couldn’t carry you back all that way, old ’un,’ said Harry. ‘What d’you take me for—Samson?’

  ‘Well, I ain’t pluddy well goin’ in barrer.’

  ‘You are so, and here they come with it now. And thank God for it.’

  Swearing and protesting loudly, Grandpop was hoisted into the barrow, and, supported on all sides by his family, set off down the road to the village. As they neared it Rosie, with her tongue in her cheek, remarked, ‘You won’t get to the Hart the night, old ’un, so I would have your say about Katie Booth and the lot of them as you go through. And the slower Harry goes the more you’ll get in.’

  Grandpop’s protestations ceased and he cast a bleared eye up at Rosie. Then giving a rumbling chuckle, he exclaimed, ‘You’ve said summat there, Rosie, lass, summat that I agree with. After all these years you’ve said summat that I agree with.’

  The End