Davis & Golightly

One day ther’ wer this reight to-do, b’tween two kids fra opposite ends’ o’ Long Street; sworn enemies in t’ annual conker knock-aat competition. Yer see, it ‘ad reached t’ final two, between this big foul-mouthed bully o’ a kid called Golightly – an’ a tiny raggy-arse little bugger name o’ Davis.

Golightly, ‘e wer swingin’ wildly tryin’ to use ‘is weight to smash ‘is opponent’s conker in ter middle o’ next week, whereas Davis wer’ moar delicate like, an’ consistently accurate, makin’ ev’ry strike count. So despite ‘is best efforts an’ massive size, ‘appen Golightly ‘ad as much chance o’ wining as walkin’ up a gangplank wi’ no ship on t’ end. When ’is conker eventually shattered fra Davis’s persistent tappin’, ‘e spat aat ‘is dummy coz ‘e couldn’t take losin’. Said ‘ow Davis “’ad cheated” – an’ “‘ow ‘e’d bin bakin’ ‘is conkers in vinegar  t’make ‘em as ‘ard as stowen!” Well pooah Davis wer’ reight  mortified coz ‘e wer’ as honest as t’ day is long, an promptly burst into tears. “Ah’ll tell me bloody dad o’ thee”, ‘e wailed. “Go ahead ya wazzock”, replied t’ young Golightly, “My dad’s bigger ‘an youers!”

So it came to pass, that it fell t’ parents ter defend their progeny’s pride  – an’ soon t’ scene wer’ set foar a bit o’ a do between t’ two dotin’ fathers! ‘Appen, word o’ impending fight spread araand laike soot fra a chimney, an’ people gathered in aal t’ doorways an’ thronged t’ street f’ a better view.

First o’ parents on t’ scene wer’ Davis senior. ‘E wer five foot in ‘is stockin’ feet an‘ ‘e wer skinnyer ‘an a bean pole. It wer said ‘at ‘e ‘ad ter run araand in t’ shower jus’ ter get wet! Despite bein’ captain o’ t’ Angel Inn pub quiz team, ‘e couldn’t fight ‘is way aat o’ a paper bag. It wer’ plainly obvious f’ aal to see, ‘at when God gave aat strength, ‘e’d clearly missed aat. In fact, ‘e ‘ad muscles on ‘im like knots on cotton! 

Nah Davis ‘adn’t paused befoar rushin’ aat t’ think why  t’ crowd ‘ad gathered, nor ‘ad ‘e previously met Golightly junior nor senior - so at this time ‘e ‘ad no comprehension as t’ family’s stature. Appen ‘e also ‘ad yon daft idea ‘at ‘e cud be some kinda featherweight champion and hero in ‘is son’s eyes. So ‘e starts mouthin’ off at aal t’ locals an’ struttin’ up and daan liake a bantam cock. "Nar then!" e shaats, “oo’s t’ little gobshite ‘ats been accusin’ our Rodney o cheatin’? Ah’ll box ‘is ears off!”

“Appen that’ll be me!” said a big boomin’ voice fra t’other end o’ street, ‘at wer so deep it rattled everyone’s fillings.  An’ as t’ crowd parted ter clear a spot f’ two parents ter meet, Davis stared vertically upwards in t’ eyes of t’ giant called Golightly. “**** me!”, ‘e said.

"Look at size on that!" said someone in the crowd. "E’s built bigger an brick aat ‘owse!"

It wer true! Golightly wer nearly seven foot tall, an’ three shovel widths across t’ shoulders.  People said ‘e wer crazy an’ damaged an’ cud fight like a bear. ‘E ‘ad ‘ands liake earth movers an’ muscles as big as mountains. ‘E ‘ad cauliflower ears; teeth liake broken tombstones; an’ reight at that moment, ee wer radiatin’ anger liake a well smacked arse. As t’ crowd looked fra one dottin’ father ter t’ other, they aal agreed, “Davis, you’re gonna die!!”

So egged on by t’ locals, both parties started proddin’ each other an’ shaatin’ profanities – whilst t’ village undertaker searched aat a child sized coffin f’ Davis. Meanwhile Davis bit Golightly on ‘is ankle which caused ‘im to hop abaat and scream liake a morris dancer on acid - only less amusin’, like. But it weren’t long afore Golightly got a grip of issen an’ simply picked Davis up by ‘is foot an’ ‘eld ‘im upside daan, swinging uselessly like a pheasant ‘angin’ on a butcher’s hook in t’wind. Then jus’ when Golightly had wound back ‘is monstrous great fist t’ batter Davis to a pulp, fete intervened – as thru t’ crowd pushed this bloody great woman built in t’ amazon style.

Tis said ‘at she only failed t’ auditions f’ King Kong coz she wer too big. She ‘ad ‘airs from her nostrils platted ‘oldin’ her tights up, rough patches on ‘er cheek fra strickin’ matches, segs in ‘er belly button f’ openin’ bottles - an’ a tattoo on t’ inside o’ her thigh which read “Ah dare ya!”.

This, as everyone in t’ village knew, wer Mrs Golightly  - an’ not only did she wear t’ trousers in t’ Golightly household, she allus ruled it wi an iron fist an aal. (Or t’ iron itssen, or a pan, or onny other ‘ard implement she cud find at ‘ time.) Indeed she wer t’ only person ‘at Golightly senior wer afeared of.  Nah unexpectedly like, ‘ere she was marchin’ at im wi a face liake a bulldog chewin’ a wasp – an’ instinctively ‘e knew ‘e wer deep in t’ poo.

T’ tell t’ truth, Mrs Golightly ‘ad been fair 'eart-sluffened when she ‘eard  ‘ow her kin wer’ scrappin’ agayen, particularly after aal t’ ASBO’s they’d amassed recently. An’ she didn’t want onny moare visits fra t’ local constabulary that day.  So she’d put daan ‘er bakin’ an’ picked up ‘er rollin’ pin an’ marched aat. “Put ‘im daan” she ordered, “Tha dunt kno where ee’s bin!” Davis was instantly dropped unceremoniously on ‘is ‘ead.

F’ a big lass, Mrs Golightly cud move surpringly fast, an’ Golightly senior didn’t know which side his head was butted as he fell down theyer at ‘er feet. An’ as she dragged ‘im ‘ome by ‘is collar, she apologised ter Davis who jus’ nealt  theyer on t’ graand wi ‘is gob openin’ and closin’ silently liake a fish aatta watter.

So in t’ end, it wer ’ Davis family ‘at won the day – an’ soon ‘e were bein’ carried aloft by t’ villagers  ter t’ Angel Inn f’ a couple or three celebratory pints o’ ‘Bull Mastive Son Of A Bitch’.  (Owt f’ a free drink!) Meanwhile, t’ young lads ‘at ‘ad started it aal, were back playing in the street together as ‘appy as two peas in a pod. Appen they’d made up ova a couple sticks o’ bubble gum an wer’ now plottin’ ‘ow to highjack t’ chippy van next Friday.