Often as not ‘e ’ad no money f’ food nor warmth, so ‘is pooar bairns, a lad called Handsome an' a lass called Freckles, wud go ter sleep at neight wi their bellies empty, dreamin’ o’ a bowl o’ gruel. Sometimes, t’ family’s only meal o’ t’ week wer’ a pigeon off some pooar buggers loft, or a lettuce misappropriated fra an allotment.
T’ tea picker’s current wife wer’ a reight miserable bitch! Allus ‘ad a face on ‘er like a slapped arse! She ‘ad a disposition as black t’ liquorice mines at Pontefract, wayer she addled afore she met ‘im. Rumour ‘ad it that she’d bin caught in a molasses explosion daan t’ mine an’ ad’ suffered a contrary reaction to it – makin’ ‘er permanently bitter an’ twisted like. Certainly she ‘adn’t stopped moanin’ abaat it since. In fact she wer’ one them lasses wot wudn’t settle f’ jus’ one word when a thousand mooare wud easily do!
‘e ad met ‘er at t’ caanty fayer not long aater is true love ‘ad died givin birth ter t’ twins. She’d used ‘er feminine charms on ‘im at a time when ‘e wer’ daan an’ needin’ a friend wi a sympathetic ear. Wot ‘e got wer’ a battle axe wi an agenda. Onnyroad, afore ‘e knew it like, ‘e wer’ bein’ frog marched daan t’ isle wi ‘is two bairns in tow. Many times since that fateful day, e’d wished she’d bin buried under a lump of Yoarkshire Brack daan t’ mine – particularly as she ‘ad no time f’ ‘is bairns. But ‘e wer’ a weak willed bloke, affeared ter stand up to ‘er, so she ruled ova t’ house wi a liquorice root o’ iron.
One neight, jus’ afore Christmas, it wer so cold that they ‘ad ter warm t’ candle up in t’ oven afore they cud get t’ bugger ter light. Aatside brass monkies could be ‘eard singin’ soprano, wandering araand in t’ cold an’ t’ frost, appen they cudn’t find their barin’s. An on this particular neight, her ladyship’s mood wer blacker than ivver...
"Wot are we to do, like?” she says, “We’ve nobut ‘alf a loaf o’ mouldy bread left an’ ah fear we shall aal starve. Appen t’ bairns ’ll atter go!"
“Nay, don’t be daft lass – ah cudn’t be wi’ aat mi bairns” says t’ tea picker.
“We’ve got nay bloody choice luv!” argued ‘is wife. “Appen if they stay, we’ll aal perish. Wot good wud cum aat o’ that? Tomorrow us’ll take ‘em ter "t’ place o’ a thaasand turns". Folks say ‘at once inside Ikea, tha can be lost fra ivver. An t’ nearest one is chuffin miles away in Leeds. Ah reckon, they’ll not find their way ‘ome fra theyer."
“But wot ’ll becum o’ em?”’e protested weakly.
“Ah reckon ‘at t’ staff theyer will discover ‘em in a week or two - an‘ hand them ova ter local constabulary, who’ll jus’ pass ‘em on ter social services. N' doubt they’ll put fresh food in their bellies an’ gi’ ‘em nice warm beds ter sleep in, like. Wi a bit o’ luck, they’ll get ther’ own caancil owse an’ be put on benefits – jus’ like aal them folks fra abroad get nah. Appen they’ll be far better off theyer, than stayin’ wi us!"
“Ah’ can see tha’s bin thinkin’ long an ‘ard abaat this” says t’ tea picker, “an I knows tha’s got a point like, but ah’m still not shooer abaat this!”
“But wot ’ll becum o’ em?”’e protested weakly.
“Ah reckon ‘at t’ staff theyer will discover ‘em in a week or two - an‘ hand them ova ter local constabulary, who’ll jus’ pass ‘em on ter social services. N' doubt they’ll put fresh food in their bellies an’ gi’ ‘em nice warm beds ter sleep in, like. Wi a bit o’ luck, they’ll get ther’ own caancil owse an’ be put on benefits – jus’ like aal them folks fra abroad get nah. Appen they’ll be far better off theyer, than stayin’ wi us!"
“Ah’ can see tha’s bin thinkin’ long an ‘ard abaat this” says t’ tea picker, “an I knows tha’s got a point like, but ah’m still not shooer abaat this!”
So she nagged him. She whinged, whimpered an’ whined at ‘im. She moaned, mithered, bleated an’ bellyached at im. She complained, griped, badgered, pestered, plagued, harassed, hassled, harried, hounded and needled ‘im. An she didn’t shut up until she’d made ‘im promise ter do exactly as she ‘ad said.
Nah, although it wer’ late, Handsome an’ Freckles wer still wide awake in their beds, far too hungry ter sleep - so heard ivvery word wot wer’ said.
"Oh heck!" sobbed Freckles, "I’ve ‘eard that t’ fella wot designed Ikea wer’ savaged ter deeath by ‘is guide dog! Appen we shall be lost in t’ land o’ Swedish export, travelin’ raand an’ raand in circles ‘til we is driven quite crazy! Wot are we ter do like?"
"Cry not, little sister," said Handsome. "Thy bruther will tek gradely care o’ thee." An’ ‘e slipped aat o’ bed an’ put on ‘is coit. Then ‘e softly unbarred t’ door an’ stepped aat inter t’ frozen neight.
T’ moon wer’ shining brightly, an’ t’ fag ends discarded by his step mother on t’ path by t’ kitchen dooar, shone aat like little glow worms in t’ moonlight. So Handsome stooped daan an’ filled ‘is pockets wi’ as many cigarette butts as they wud hold. Then ‘e went back in an’ crept in ter bed agayen.
T’ moon wer’ shining brightly, an’ t’ fag ends discarded by his step mother on t’ path by t’ kitchen dooar, shone aat like little glow worms in t’ moonlight. So Handsome stooped daan an’ filled ‘is pockets wi’ as many cigarette butts as they wud hold. Then ‘e went back in an’ crept in ter bed agayen.
T’ next morning t’ wicked stepmother cum an’ woke t’ children reight early. She told ‘em they must get up an’ dress quickly.
"Tha shall go wi’ us ter a place called Ikea ter-day. Tha fatther an’ ah ‘as ter do sum measuring’ up o’ stuff fra bit o’ work ‘e’s bin offered, like. An’ ah want thee ter keep tha sens aat o’ mischief whilst we do.” Then she giv’ ‘em each a half o’ t’ last piece o’ mouldy bread fra their dinner, an’ they aal set aat together. Handsome let Freckles carry both pieces o’ bread in her apron, f’ ‘is pockets wer’ full o’ stale fag ends.
"Tha shall go wi’ us ter a place called Ikea ter-day. Tha fatther an’ ah ‘as ter do sum measuring’ up o’ stuff fra bit o’ work ‘e’s bin offered, like. An’ ah want thee ter keep tha sens aat o’ mischief whilst we do.” Then she giv’ ‘em each a half o’ t’ last piece o’ mouldy bread fra their dinner, an’ they aal set aat together. Handsome let Freckles carry both pieces o’ bread in her apron, f’ ‘is pockets wer’ full o’ stale fag ends.
Nah, tis amazin’ ‘ow quickly a wet an’ dishevelled lookin’ family on t’ side o’ a main road can hitch a lift fra a passin’ motorist – an necessity had made t’ tea picker an‘ ‘is family experts at this particular skill. So it weren’t long afore they wer speedin’ their way ter Leeds in t’ sleepin’ quarters o’ an eighteen wheel Eddie Stobart transport lorry - surraanded by mooare comforts than wot they’d ivver ‘ad at home.
T’ trucker ‘ad listened very politely ter t’ yarn ‘er ladyship ‘ad spun ‘im – an’ ‘e seemed genuinely concerned. Turned aat ‘e wer’ a born agayen Christian an’ a genuine good Samaritan ter boot. ‘e wer’ on ‘is way ter t’ collect t’ latest harvest o’ tagliatelle fra t’ Spaghetti Orchards aatside o’ Bradford – so Ikea wer’ on ‘is way like.
“Personally ah can’t be doing wi aal that 'do-it-yourself self assembly gubbins!'" says t’ trucker. “Ah once bought two pillows only ter find aat wen ah got 'ome, t' box contained nowt but a dead duck!”
Lookin’ at t’ family’s drawn faces, it didn’t take a genius ter see ‘at they wer’ malnourished an’ pooar! So t' trucker told 'em ‘ow ‘e allus kept a small bottle o’ whiskey an’ t’ odd Yorkie Bar in ‘is glove compartment f’ emergencies – ‘cept ‘e ’d eaten t’ last one t’ night afore. However, theyer wer’ welcome ter ‘ave a slug ooer three o’ t’ whiskey an eat t’ rest o’ a half finished box of Mint Matchmakers wot ‘ad been under ‘is seat fra several months.
So while t’ family ‘elped themsens ter ‘is goodies, t’ trucker known ter 'is mates as Holy Joe, tuned ‘is radio in ter Bishop FM an’ sang along loudly ter aal t’ stonkin’ music being played by t’ DJ Terry Ferdinand. “Shame t’ bugger nivver plays ‘Convoy' ” 'e said absentmindedly.
P'rhaps unsurprisingly, wi such luxuries an’ great music, it wer’ nobbut a blink o’ an eye length journey afore they wer’ pullin’ up aatside o’ a great big blue an yella metal building that looked like a missin' piece fra a giant's lego set. An’ a minute or so later – they wer’ walking thru its dooars whilst humming t’ last song they’d heard fra t’ radio…. t’ theme fra t’ Waltons television series.
Havin’ not seen aat like Ikea afore, Freckles wer’ lead deep into its bowels with ‘er eyes wide an’ ‘er mouth openin’ an’ closin’ like a fish aat o’ watter. But as they went along, t’ tea picker noticed ‘ow Handsome stopped an’ looked back ivvery few minutes.
T’ trucker ‘ad listened very politely ter t’ yarn ‘er ladyship ‘ad spun ‘im – an’ ‘e seemed genuinely concerned. Turned aat ‘e wer’ a born agayen Christian an’ a genuine good Samaritan ter boot. ‘e wer’ on ‘is way ter t’ collect t’ latest harvest o’ tagliatelle fra t’ Spaghetti Orchards aatside o’ Bradford – so Ikea wer’ on ‘is way like.
“Personally ah can’t be doing wi aal that 'do-it-yourself self assembly gubbins!'" says t’ trucker. “Ah once bought two pillows only ter find aat wen ah got 'ome, t' box contained nowt but a dead duck!”
Lookin’ at t’ family’s drawn faces, it didn’t take a genius ter see ‘at they wer’ malnourished an’ pooar! So t' trucker told 'em ‘ow ‘e allus kept a small bottle o’ whiskey an’ t’ odd Yorkie Bar in ‘is glove compartment f’ emergencies – ‘cept ‘e ’d eaten t’ last one t’ night afore. However, theyer wer’ welcome ter ‘ave a slug ooer three o’ t’ whiskey an eat t’ rest o’ a half finished box of Mint Matchmakers wot ‘ad been under ‘is seat fra several months.
So while t’ family ‘elped themsens ter ‘is goodies, t’ trucker known ter 'is mates as Holy Joe, tuned ‘is radio in ter Bishop FM an’ sang along loudly ter aal t’ stonkin’ music being played by t’ DJ Terry Ferdinand. “Shame t’ bugger nivver plays ‘Convoy' ” 'e said absentmindedly.
P'rhaps unsurprisingly, wi such luxuries an’ great music, it wer’ nobbut a blink o’ an eye length journey afore they wer’ pullin’ up aatside o’ a great big blue an yella metal building that looked like a missin' piece fra a giant's lego set. An’ a minute or so later – they wer’ walking thru its dooars whilst humming t’ last song they’d heard fra t’ radio…. t’ theme fra t’ Waltons television series.
Havin’ not seen aat like Ikea afore, Freckles wer’ lead deep into its bowels with ‘er eyes wide an’ ‘er mouth openin’ an’ closin’ like a fish aat o’ watter. But as they went along, t’ tea picker noticed ‘ow Handsome stopped an’ looked back ivvery few minutes.
"Why does tha look back so often, my son?" ‘e asked. "If tha dunt take care tha’ll trip ower summat expensive like, an we can’t afford onny breakages."
"Ah can’t believe ‘ow much stuff is in ‘ere” lied, Handsome, “ah wer’ jus’ marvellin’ at it aal.”
But secretly, each time ‘e turned around ‘e dropped a cigarette butt, ter mark t’ way they’d cum.
But secretly, each time ‘e turned around ‘e dropped a cigarette butt, ter mark t’ way they’d cum.
As they went farther an’ farther in ter t’ labyrinth that is Ikea, t’ path got mooare an’ mooare twisty an’ thronged wi people. Onny sense o’ direction that Handsome an’ Freckles ‘ad when they fust cum in, wer soon long since gone. At last, atter wot seemed like hours o’ walkin’, t’ tea picker said ter ‘is children, “Sit daan an’ take a break ‘ere whilst tha stepmother an’ ah ‘ave a gud skeg araand. We won’t be long!” But Handsome noticed that as ‘e said this, ‘e cudn’t look him straight in t’ eye, an’ appeared ter be wipin’ away a tear as ‘e disappeared in ter t’ craawd.
So Handsome an’ Freckles sat daan on a couple o’ leather recliners, not shooer o’ wot ter do next. Both wer’ torn between wantin’ ter protest, an’ not wantin’ ter make life onny harder f’ their fatther. Neither knew wot t’ say ter t’ other, so they sat in silence an’ ate t’ last o’ t’ Mint Matchmakers. Then, feeling a tad jiggered atter their long walk, combined wi t’ affects o’ a rare bit o’ nice food an’ even rarer drop o’ alcohol inside ‘em – quickly fell saand asleep.
When they awoke, it wer’ as dark as a coal ‘ole picnic - an’ aal but t’ security lights wer’ aat. There weren’t a soul ter be seen onny wayer. In fact t’ only saands wer’ t’ hum o’ a distant generator an’ t’ hooting o’ an owl wot had lost its way an’ decided ter snuggle up ter a warm-air aatlet on t’ roof f’ t’ neight.
"Oh Handsome, what shall we do?" sobbed Freckles. "Appen we ‘ave mooare chance platin’ fog than getting’ aat. We shall nivver be able ter find us way ‘ome."
"Oh Handsome, what shall we do?" sobbed Freckles. "Appen we ‘ave mooare chance platin’ fog than getting’ aat. We shall nivver be able ter find us way ‘ome."
"Nay fret lass" said Handsome. "Gi’ me your hand an’ I will get thee aat o’ here."
An’ as they got up, as if bi magic like, t’ moon began ter rise aat side sendin’ silver moonbeams through ter glass windas lightin’ up their suraandin’s. “Look theyer” said Handsome pointin’ ahead. F’ theyer in t’ moonlight, like a little glow-worm, shone a cigarette butt that Handsome had dropped earlier. An beyond that another, then another, and so on. “Well ah’ll go ter t’ foot o’ our stairs!” says Freckles.
So hand in hand, t’ children set off followin’ t’ line o’ glow worms through t’ maze o’ corridors an’ passageways. F’ abaat half an hour or so they skipped happily together thinkin’ that their luck ‘ad changed - but then, as they rounded a corner, t’ line o’ cigarette butts, suddenly stopped – replaced by a highly polished an’ empty flooar.
“Oh bugger!” said Handsome. “Appen ah forgot ter factor in ter me plans t’ possibility o’ a cleaning lady! Ah guess we is gonna have ter think o’ summat else nah?”
But Freckles wer’n’t payin’ ‘im onny attention like. She wer’ looking at a sign on t’ an office door. It read: “Welcome ter your IKEA interview. Please build yourself a chair and sit down.”
Then suddenly she started acting aal weird like, sniffin’ ter air like a hound on t’ scent o’ a fox.
“Wots up?” ‘e says to ‘er.
“Ah think ah can smell a hint o’ meatballs, fra daan this way somewayer. Maybe fries too?” says Freckles.
“Well ah can’t smell owt!” replied Hansome. “But in t’ absence o’ a better idea, ah suggest we folla tha nose an’ see wayer it takes us!” So they did.
Atter a while Handsome says, “ Ee by heck chuck, tha’s reight. Ah can shooerly smell summat nah! Tis a bit like Maccy D’s but wi a hint o’ real food?”
So hand in hand, t’ children set off followin’ t’ line o’ glow worms through t’ maze o’ corridors an’ passageways. F’ abaat half an hour or so they skipped happily together thinkin’ that their luck ‘ad changed - but then, as they rounded a corner, t’ line o’ cigarette butts, suddenly stopped – replaced by a highly polished an’ empty flooar.
“Oh bugger!” said Handsome. “Appen ah forgot ter factor in ter me plans t’ possibility o’ a cleaning lady! Ah guess we is gonna have ter think o’ summat else nah?”
But Freckles wer’n’t payin’ ‘im onny attention like. She wer’ looking at a sign on t’ an office door. It read: “Welcome ter your IKEA interview. Please build yourself a chair and sit down.”
Then suddenly she started acting aal weird like, sniffin’ ter air like a hound on t’ scent o’ a fox.
“Wots up?” ‘e says to ‘er.
“Ah think ah can smell a hint o’ meatballs, fra daan this way somewayer. Maybe fries too?” says Freckles.
“Well ah can’t smell owt!” replied Hansome. “But in t’ absence o’ a better idea, ah suggest we folla tha nose an’ see wayer it takes us!” So they did.
Atter a while Handsome says, “ Ee by heck chuck, tha’s reight. Ah can shooerly smell summat nah! Tis a bit like Maccy D’s but wi a hint o’ real food?”
So reight thru t’ neight, t’ children journeyed up an daan t’ isles o’ beddin’, kitchens, office furniture an’ a billion other things that tha dun’t actually need but can get flat packed – ‘ere an’ theyer losing t’ scent o’ fry-ups but then findin’ it agayen, an aal t’ time getting’ closer ter its source. In fact t’ sun wer’ cumin’ up by t’ time they raanded a corner in wot wer’ t’ biggest warehouse either Handsome ooer Freckles ‘ad ivver been in - and spied t’ most wonderful sight they‘d ivver seen.
Fustly, ther’ wer’ a sweetie shop, designed like a cottage in a story book, aal ready fra t’ Christmas market, complete wi false snow an’ fairy lights too. An’ next to that, wer a another shop wot sold meatballs – an’ hotdogs – an’ fries an’ aal manner o’ savouries. (Hence t’ smell.)
Freckles, bein’ made o’ sugar an’ spice an’ aal that stuff, wer naturally drawn ter t’ sweetie shop. But she felt like such a wazzock when she realised it wer made entirely o’ plastic gingerbread, ornamented wi rubber cookies, cellophane candy windows an’ toffee steps made fra foam.
Meanwhile, Handsome wer’ delighted that t’ shop selling meatballs an’ hotdogs was entirely real – as wer’ aal t’ food inside it.
Fustly, ther’ wer’ a sweetie shop, designed like a cottage in a story book, aal ready fra t’ Christmas market, complete wi false snow an’ fairy lights too. An’ next to that, wer a another shop wot sold meatballs – an’ hotdogs – an’ fries an’ aal manner o’ savouries. (Hence t’ smell.)
Freckles, bein’ made o’ sugar an’ spice an’ aal that stuff, wer naturally drawn ter t’ sweetie shop. But she felt like such a wazzock when she realised it wer made entirely o’ plastic gingerbread, ornamented wi rubber cookies, cellophane candy windows an’ toffee steps made fra foam.
Meanwhile, Handsome wer’ delighted that t’ shop selling meatballs an’ hotdogs was entirely real – as wer’ aal t’ food inside it.
"What a gradely breakfast we shall have!" cried Handsome, helping himself to a cold hot dog an’ a bread bun. "We’ve got Coke, Fanta an’ coffee too!”
Freckles wer’ jus’ in t' middle o' deep-throating a giant hot dog, when she heard a gentle voice fra behind her sayin’: "Munching an’ crunching! Do ah hear a mouse?”
An' ter her shock an’ delight, she turned araand ter see her fatther standin’ theyer wi ‘is arms open wide – accompanied by half a dozen security men wi torches.
“Ah’m so sorry” ‘e says. “As soon as ah got aat side wi yon step mother, ah realised wot a complete fool ah’d bin ter listen ter her poisoned words fra aal these yeears. ‘ow cud ah abandon mi own bairns? So ah give ‘er a bit o’ ‘er own medicine like. I nagged her. Whinged, whimpered an’ whined at ‘er. Moaned, mithered, bleated an’ bellyached at ‘er. Ah complained, griped, badgered, pestered, plagued, harassed, hassled, harried, hounded and needled ‘er. An more ‘an that, ah told ‘er exactly wot ah thought o’ er. An it felt bloody wonderful!”
“So wot did she say ter that?” asked a gobsmacked an’ reight praad Handsome.
An' ter her shock an’ delight, she turned araand ter see her fatther standin’ theyer wi ‘is arms open wide – accompanied by half a dozen security men wi torches.
“Ah’m so sorry” ‘e says. “As soon as ah got aat side wi yon step mother, ah realised wot a complete fool ah’d bin ter listen ter her poisoned words fra aal these yeears. ‘ow cud ah abandon mi own bairns? So ah give ‘er a bit o’ ‘er own medicine like. I nagged her. Whinged, whimpered an’ whined at ‘er. Moaned, mithered, bleated an’ bellyached at ‘er. Ah complained, griped, badgered, pestered, plagued, harassed, hassled, harried, hounded and needled ‘er. An more ‘an that, ah told ‘er exactly wot ah thought o’ er. An it felt bloody wonderful!”
“So wot did she say ter that?” asked a gobsmacked an’ reight praad Handsome.
“Nowt!” replied t’ tea picker. “She wer’ that took aback that she didn’t look wayer she wer’ goin’ an' stepped back'ards aat on ter t' road, an' straight under a number 32 bus fra Cleckhuddersfax. An ah’m delighted ter report that t’ wicked witch is deead, deceased, passed on, gone!"
"Yay!" cried 'is two bairns, wi tears of joy freely flowin' daan their cheeks!
"Thankfully" continued t' tea picker, these blokes 'ere saw t’ whole thing – an’ atter I’d told ‘em me story, they kindly volunteered ter help me search f’ thee. We’ve been tryin’ ter find thee ivver since!”
“Aint thee afeared that t’ old bag will come back an haunt thee? That 'er rottin' zombie like corpse'll cum an' cratch tha eyes aat or summat when tha’s asleep?" asked Freckles incredulously.
“Nay lass” said t’ tea picker, “Reckon ah’ll ‘ave ‘er buried face daan - in a block o' concrete. She’ll nivver be able ter claw her way aat o' that!”
So Handsome an’ Freckles an’ t’ tea picker thumbed their way back to t’ Scarborough an’ lived happily ivver after. Freckles became a lady of low voltage, Handsome a rent boy – an’ t’ tea picker took up folk music under the name o’ John Boy Walton.
End:
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"Yay!" cried 'is two bairns, wi tears of joy freely flowin' daan their cheeks!
"Thankfully" continued t' tea picker, these blokes 'ere saw t’ whole thing – an’ atter I’d told ‘em me story, they kindly volunteered ter help me search f’ thee. We’ve been tryin’ ter find thee ivver since!”
“Aint thee afeared that t’ old bag will come back an haunt thee? That 'er rottin' zombie like corpse'll cum an' cratch tha eyes aat or summat when tha’s asleep?" asked Freckles incredulously.
“Nay lass” said t’ tea picker, “Reckon ah’ll ‘ave ‘er buried face daan - in a block o' concrete. She’ll nivver be able ter claw her way aat o' that!”
So Handsome an’ Freckles an’ t’ tea picker thumbed their way back to t’ Scarborough an’ lived happily ivver after. Freckles became a lady of low voltage, Handsome a rent boy – an’ t’ tea picker took up folk music under the name o’ John Boy Walton.
End:
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This story is dedicated to the musicians, contributors and hosts of The Folk Show on BishopFM Radio - and in particular to my friend Glenn (John-Boy) Coggin and the rest of our Waltons family.
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