T’ Three Little Pigs

Once upon a time, in t’ little market taan o’ Piggering near Whitby, theyer lived a kindly owd  widowed sow by t’ name o’ Hamma Montanna – oo ‘ad three little piglets ter tek care o’. At t’ time o’ this ‘ere story like, she wer’ knockin’ on in yeears havin’ had several litters afore. So instinct wer tellin’ ‘er that it weren’t gonna be too long afore she’d be trottin’ off ter that great sty in t’ sky.


Porky’s years ago, in wot nah seemed like another life, Hamma had bin a rising star o’ stage an’ screen - starin’ in movies such as Babe, Pigs In Space, Porkies, Star Boars, Piglets Of The Caribbean, Unsteakable, T’ Bacon Supremacy, Groundhog Day; an’ also musicals such as Phantom Of The Chopra, Spamalot an’ Porky & Bess.


At one o’ t’ many after-show swine an’ cheese parties she attended, she met t’ future love o’ her life -  R&B legend Boar Diddley. ‘e quickly becum ‘er gilt-ie pleasure as f’ monny a long month afore ‘e finally put a ring through ‘er nose, they’d sneak aat ter meet each other, hold hams an’ share a few troughs o’ Hogsmead.  Eventually, at t’ openin’ night o’ 633 Squadron – The Hambusters, ‘e got daan on one trotter an’ proposed.


For a year a two they wer’ as happy as pigs in shit! Indeed, Diddley wer reight gradely at bringin’ ‘ome t’ bacon wi musical bookings aal ova North Yorkshire. Sadly, a heart attack brought on by sum sort o’ electrical shock, meant one year ‘e lost ‘is ‘ead at t’ village Hog Roast at t’ Sun Inn.


Aal she ‘ad left nah, wer her three sons:  Knio - oo wer allus backards at cumin forrard; Piiig – oo wer born with three eyes; an’ CunningHam oo’d clearly inherited ‘is mother’s brains.


Nah Hamma dearly loved ‘er three little squealers an’ worried f’ theyer future wi aat her. So ivvery night, she med it ‘er business ter gather ‘em raand t’ pignic table, ter chew t’ fat an’ tell ‘em pig tales that might prepare them f’ t’ big bad world beyond t’ safety o’ theyer sty.


One night, as they shared theyer evenin’ slops, Hamma said ter her three sons: “Well lads, ah’m not gettin’ onny younger, so’ t’ time ‘as cum, f’ thee aal ter go aat in ter t’ big world an’ find tha own places. ‘ere’s a silk purse f’ each o’ thee, med fra one o’ me ears.  Inside each, there’s a bit o’ brass ter get thee started. It aint much but it’s better ‘n nowt! ”


T’ three piglets hugged theyer mother wi’ joy an’ trepidation, spendin’ much o’ t’ rest o’ t’ night, in quiet contemplation o’ future events. In t’ morning afore they left, Hamma told them: “Wot ivver tha does, do it t’ best tha can coz appen it’s t’ only way ter get along! Aalreight?”


Then off went t’ three little pigs in different directions t’ seek theyer fortunes – an pooar Hamma wer left alone aal heart-sluffened, yet content that she’d done aal she cud.


Nah Knio, oo wer allus backards at cummin forrard, happened upon ter nearest public inn (T’ Crackling Pig) an’ wer soon tempted in ter spendin’ is brass on raand atter raand o’ Razorback - a beer reputedly 10 times stronger than Hogsmead. So it dint tek long afore ‘e wer pissed as a vicar neckin’ communion wine. Strangely, t’ moare ‘e drank, t’ mooare e’ med new friends. Friends wot wer only too ‘appy ter ‘elp ‘im spend ‘is brass. An’ unsurprisingly, it follud that not long atter, they wer aal daan at t’ Pigcino ‘elpin ‘im throw ‘is money away on one fool-hardy bet atter another. In fact, in no time at aal, ‘ed not only gambled away aal t’ brass is mother ‘ad given ‘im, but also ran up a level o’ credit ‘e simply cudn’t pay back. It only dawned on ‘im wot a mess ‘e wer in, wen ‘e eventually noticed t’ huge bouncers givin’ him t’ evil piggy eye – an upon lookin’ raand, noticed that aal ‘is new buddies ‘ad vanished back in ter t’ night like shadows.


“Bugger!” ‘e thowatt. “Wot a stupid, greedy piggie ah’ve bin. Appen this place is gonna ‘ave mi bacon!” So ‘e did t’ only thing that a piglet could do in such circumstances… like lard meltin’ in a hot pan, he ran! An’ bein’ swift o’ foot if not o’ brain, ‘e wer aat t’ door  an‘ a long way daan t’ road afore t’ boars at Pigcino ‘ad even noticed.


As ‘e ran, Knio had a crisis o’ conscience! ‘e felt just terrible that ‘e’d gambled away ‘is inheritance an’ let ‘is mum daan in just ‘is first day aat fra theyer home. So ‘e swore on his little pink piggy heart that if ‘e survived this day, ‘e’d settle daan jus’ like ‘is mum ‘ad wanted ‘im to in t’ fust place.


As fate wud ‘ave it, at that very moment, ‘e passed a field full o’ bright golden straw an’ theyer in it’s middle, noticed a farmer struggling wi t’ effort o’ gatherin’ in t’ crop. So usin’ t’ only little grey cell ‘e possessed, ‘e quickly med a deal wi t’ farmer – an’ in return f’ helping t’ farmer bring in ‘is crop, wer given enuf straw ter build issen a house. Thus t’ fust little piggy built ‘is ‘ouse o’ straw.


Nah Knio’s middle brother, Piiig, wer a different sort o’ piglet aal together. ‘e liked t’ be in touch wi nature. ‘e loved animals, ‘e liked trees, ‘e liked mekin’ things – an’ ‘e ‘ad an eye f’ t’ ladies. Not that ‘e ‘ad onny experience like. But that nivver stopped ‘is third eye rovin’ an tekin’ note o’ every pink paand o’ porky flesh that trotted by. So, when Piiig left t’ family dwellin’, ‘e set aat straight away like, f’ t’ bright lights o’ Whitby wayer ‘e hoped ter meet t’ piglet o’ is dreams.


An’ ‘e aalmost did! Well sort of.


That atternoon, as Knio entered t’ aatskirts Whitby taan, ‘e cum across a sow o’ ill repute offerin’ ‘er services on t’ street. She wer an experienced owd ham o’ generous proportions, wi a rack on’er that monny piglets wud happily die fer.  An’ so f’ Piiig, it wer lust at first sight an’ afore long ‘e ‘ad handed ova ‘is brass an’ wer ensconced in ‘er boudoir, snortin’ cocaine an gettin’ ‘is little curly tail well an’ truly straightened! She on t’ other hand wer less than fussy because she ‘adn’t paid ‘er pimp f’ board an’ protection f’ weeks  - so she easily turned a blind eye ter ‘is third eye.


Nah it dunt tek a genius ter realise that such a relationship wer doomed ter cum ter an’ unhappy end. An o’course it did…


 Just as Piiig an’ ‘Smoky Bacon’ wer reachin’ t’ sqeak o’ passion, in ter t’ room burst ‘er pimp wi three enormous hairy grizzled lookin’ Carpathian wild boars, wi tusks on ‘em like excited elephants.  They picked up Piiig an’ hurled ‘im against ‘er wardrobe, shatterin’ it into millions o’ pieces. Then they bounced him off t’ ‘er dressin’ table, t’ coffee table, an’ t’ chair by t’ bed  - breakin ivvery thing ‘e cum in ter contact with. An’ sumwayer during this process, ‘e lost consciousness. Meanwhile t’ pimp concentrated on hurlin’ both insults an’ ‘is ham-fisted trotters at t’ pooar whore,  whilst relievin’ her o’ aal o’ ‘er takings.


Wen Piiig eventually opened ‘is three eyes agayen, several hours ‘ad passed by. T’ well endowed sow, ‘er pimp an’ ‘is henchpigs ‘ad aal gone. Piiig wer alone in t’ wreck o’ t’ apartment, covered in blood, purple an’ black bruises, an’ millions o’ bits o’ kindling which once med up furniture.


“Kinell” ‘e said aat laad. “Wot a selfish little piglet ‘ave bin. Ah’ve lost me inheritance an’ let mother daan aalready. Ah swear that if ah can jus’ get thru this day, ah’ll settle daan like mum wanted me ter do in t’ fust place!”


Then, like t’ turning on o’ a light, ‘e ‘ad a brilliant idea. ‘e borrowed an oss an’ cart fra local blacksmith an’ piled it high wi aal t’ kindling, wood an’ sticks, that wer once t’ owd tart’s furniture. ‘e also took t’ nah hingeless dooar, t’ bed an’ anything else t’ cart cud hold! (Even t’ pink fluffy handcuffs, t’ KY Jelly an t’ Anne Summers Rampant Rabbit ‘e faand in ‘er drawers.) Then ’e buggered off aat o’ t’ taan as fast as ‘is little trotters wud carry ‘im. Once back in ter t’ countryside, ‘e faand a nice quiet boggy swamp, an’ set abaat buildin’ issen a house o’ wood. Not a nice carved one like, but a house med aat o’ t’ kindling, splinters, sticks, an’ scraps ‘e’d taken fra t’ owd sow’s meager abode. O’ course it wer nivver gonna look like a property on Mayfair, or a Manhattan sty-scraper – but nonetheless it wer mooare or less weatherproof an’ it wer stronger than ‘is bother Knio’s house o’ straw.


O’ t’ three brothers, it wer CunningHam wot got t’ hog’s share o’ t’ family’s brains. Not that ‘e wer exceptionally bright ooer gifted either. But ‘e thowatt abaat things a lot afore speakin’ ooer actin’, which wer aalmost as good.


CunningHam thowatt long an’ hard abaat wot ter build ‘is house aat o’? Stone seemed best coz it wer solid, weather proof an’ survived t’ ravages o’ time. But stone cum in different shapes an’ sizes an ‘e weren’t a stone mason. So in t’end ‘e chose bricks! They wer solid, weather proof an’ stood t’ test o’ time – but mooare importantly, they fitted together much easier! So on t’ day ‘e said goodbye t’ family home, ‘e took issen off ter be a brickie – an’ enrolled in t’ college in Scarborough. Five days later ‘e knew e’d faand ‘is particular gift.


Thus t’ third little piggie spent ‘is inheritance wisely - an in ‘is own good time, built ‘is house aat o’ bricks. “Mum’ll be reight praad o’ me nah!” ‘e said ter issen admiring ‘is handy work atter ‘e’d finished.


In fact, CunningHam liked bricks – a lot! So much so, that ‘e built  everything aat o’ bricks. ‘is table, ‘is chairs, even ‘is bed wer med aat o’ brick. Indeed, ‘e felt safe an’ sound in ‘t knowledge that everything ‘e  ‘ad wer solid an’ dependable.


Well at least that’s wot ‘e thowatt till t’ day ‘e went surfin’ wi ‘is brothers at Filey. Theyer, ‘e watched as they happily splashed in t’ waves wi surf boards made o’ straw an’ sticks. Later however, his smug sense o’ security - along wi ‘is board o’ bricks - vanished in abaat 40 feet o’ water.


Nah sum folks say that fate is nowt mooare than a grumpy owd sow wi a sty full o’ weeners – an’ that destiny is just a selfish boar. But wots f’ definite, is that, at a certain time o’ t’ month, neither mek f’ happy bed-fellows! An’ unbeknown ter our three young brothers, in a seedy part o’ Whitby taan, fate an’ destiny ‘ad both bin windin’ up one o’ it’s moore insalubrious residents.


AbraHam wer an American Razorback, a true Hamster (a hog-gangster) brought inter Whitby taan by t’ Vegas mob ter run aal it’s illegal activities such as gambling, prostitution, an’ drugs. ‘e wer t’ Don, t’ President, an’ ‘e represented t’ word o’ law, legal ooer otherwise f’ aal t’ pooar folks o’ Whitby. Even t’ local boys in blue wer in ‘is pay an’ in ‘is pocket.


So via t’ local constabulary, it ‘ad cum ter AbraHam’s attention that t’ three brothers wer wanted f’ various misdemeanors an’ wer possibly musclin’ in on ‘is territory. According ter ‘is info, brother number one – a young piglet called Knio, owed im an unpaid alcohol an’ gamblin’ debt wot wer increasing dramatically wi spiraling interest.  Brother number two – a three eyed runt called Piiig, wer wanted fer breaking up one o’ is whore-houses an’ robbin’ it o’ property. Brother number three, a piglet called CunningHam actually hadn’t done anything illegal – but ‘e’d bought up aal t’ bricks in North Yorkshire leavin’ AbraHam nowt wi which ter expand ‘is empire. Worryingly,  AbraHam feared this last act wud be seen by others as a play f’ power, mekin’ im look weak unless ‘e dealt with it swiftly an’ wi aat mercy. So AbraHam sent  f’ ‘is top enforcer!


Mr. Wulluf wer AbraHam’s top dog! ‘e wer a wolf by birth an’ a wolf by nature! An enforcer, a war-dog, a top predator an’ a ruthless killing machine that completed orders swiftly an officiently, wi aat paws f’ thowatt ooer care.


“Appen ah want thee ter pay a call on yon piglets, one by one!” said AbraHam ter Mr Wulluf. “Flattern theyer houses an’ kill ‘em – but mek it look like an accident! OK?”


Mr Wulluf simply nodded silently an’ stalked off.


That night Mr Wulluf, oo dearly loved ter eat fat little piggies, quickly faand ter t’ house o’ straw.  ‘e banged on t’ door an’ said in ‘is big gruff voice, “Avon calling little pig, please let me in.”


Nah despite not being t’ sharpest tool in the box, Knio knew this weren’t  t’ Avon lady – but only because it wer only Tuesday an’ t’ Avon lady didn’t cum ‘till Thursday.  So ‘e says, “No, no, by t’ hair o’ my chinny chin chin, ah’ll not let thee in! Bugger off!”


“OK, tha’s got me” says Mr Wulluf. “Ah’m not t’ Avon lady. Ah’m t’ famous big bad wolf, an’ if tha dunt let me in, then ah'll huff, an’ ah'll puff, an’ ah'll blow yon house daan.”


“On yer bike!” shouted Knio back in defiance.


So Mr Wulluf huffed, an’ ‘e puffed, an’ ‘e blew Knio’s house daan!


An’ then ‘e killed t’ pooar little piggy an’ spit roast ‘im ova t’ fire.  Afterwards he’ ate Knio as a pork an’ Bramley Apple sandwich wi a chunk o’ crispy crackling on t’ side.


T’ following morning, Mr Wulluf continued ‘is search f’ house number two – t’ house med o’ wood. ‘e quizzed ivveryone ‘e met on ‘is travels abaat theyer local knowledge – often tradin’ tales o’ houses bein’ blown daan by freakish winds. Indeed, Mr Wulluf rather enjoyed his role as a master o’ misdirection.


By that night, Mr Wulluf had faand Piiig’s house med o’ wood - partly thanks ter t’ loose tongued rantings o’ a half cut, green Scottish ogre that wanted ‘im aat o’ ‘is swamp. So h’e banged on t’ dooar an said in his big gruff voice, “Pest Control – we’ve ‘ad reports o’ t’ infamous Lampton Wood Worm eatin’ folks aat o’ theyer ‘ouses. Ah need ter tek a look araand. Please let me in.”


Nah it so ‘appened that Piiig knew t’ Lampton Worm personally. Indeed Big Jim an’ he had often gone fishin’ together - wi Big Jim usin’ issen as bait, only ter wrap issen raand onny fish wot tried ter bite ‘im. So Piiig knew ‘e weren’t no pest. Which meant oo ivver this was at t’ door, it weren’t no pest control. So ‘e says, “No, no, by t’ hair o’ my chinny chin chin, ah’ll not let thee in! Appen there’s only one pest ‘ere an’ that’s thee. So bugger off!”


“OK, tha’s got me” says Mr Wulluf. “Ah’m not fra Pest Control. Ah’m t’ famous big bad wolf, an’ if tha dunt let me in, then ah'll huff, an’ ah'll puff, an’ ah'll blow yon house daan.”


“Tha can kiss my pink porky ass!” shouted back Piiig in defiance.


So Mr Wulluf huffed, an’ ‘e puffed, an’ ‘e blew Piiig’s house daan!

An’ then ‘e killed t’ pooar little piggy an’ casseroled him in a big pot wi plenty of Blackthorn Cider.  Later he’ ate Piiig wi mashed potatoes, butter soaked asparagus, an’ a chunk o’ crispy crackling.

T’ following morning, Mr Wulluf continued ‘is search f’ house number three – t’ house med o’ bricks. Once agayen, ‘e quizzed ivveryone ‘e met on ‘is travels abaat theyer local knowledge an’ traded tales o’ houses bein’ blown daan by freakish winds.

T’ news o’ a second ‘weather related incident’ quickly spread raand t’ bush telegraph o’ North Yorkshire wi folks daan at t’ local markets keen ter express an ‘opinion’ on t’ uncommon freakish winds that allegedly seemed ter be occurring. One such incident wer rare enough – but two homes destroyed aat o’ t’ blue wer unprecedented. CunningHam heard t’ rumours too – an’ havin’ not had any contact with either o’ ‘is brothers recently, feared t’ worst.  So ‘e turned t ‘internet f’ information. Sadly, it wer no help at aal. Accordin’ ter t’ met office, t’ weather ‘ad bin jus’ gradely!

That night, ther cum a knock on CunningHam’s front dooar, an’ a big gruff voice says, “U.P.S ‘ere. Ah have a delivery o’ bricks f’ thee! Please let me in!”

Immediately CunningHam knew summat wer wrong coz ‘e only ivver bought ‘is bricks off eBay an’ they allus delivered usin’ Parcel Force. So ‘e says, “No, no, by t’ hair o’ my chinny chin chin, ah’ll not let thee in! Bugger off!”

“OK, tha’s got me” says Mr Wulluf. “Ah’m not t’ U.P.S. man.  Ah’m t’ famous big bad wolf, an’ if tha dunt let me in, then ah'll huff, an’ ah'll puff, an’ ah'll blow yon house daan.”

“Tha can chuffin try!” shouted back CunningHam in defiance. “But ah reckon tha’s got mooar chance striking matches on tripe!”


So Mr Wulluf huffed, an’ ‘e puffed, an’ ‘e blew. But nowt ‘appened!  So huffed, an’ ‘e puffed, an’ ‘e blew sum mooare. But nowt appened aal ova agayen!   In fact, no matter ‘ow monny times ‘e tried, ooer ‘ow much Mr Wulluf huffed an’ puffed, ‘e cud not blow CunningHam’s house daan!


So finally realisin’ this, ‘e promptly decided ter change ‘is tactics an’ thowatt ‘e’d try ‘is paw at aat smartin’  t’ little pig. So ‘e said, “Little pig, appen ah kno’ wayer  there’s a reight gradely field o’ turnips!”


“Oh aye” said CunningHam. “Wayer?”


“Oh, in Mr. Smith's home field! If tha can be ready tomorrow mornin’, ah’ll call f’ thee.  We can go together an’ get sum f’ us dinner like.”


“No ta – but thanks aal t’ same!” says CunningHam. “Ah do aal me shoppin’ on line nah – an’ they even deliver! In fact they’ve bin this very mornin’ so me larder’s stocked high wi wonderful food!” 


Mr Wulluf wer reight annoyed at ‘earing this but nonetheless remained doggedly determined ter get ter t’ little pig sum’ow ooer other. So ‘e said, “T’ Muppet Christmas Movie is on at t’ flicks at t’ moment featurin’ Miss Piggy! “Ah can pick thee up tomorrow an’ we can go an’ watch it together, if tha likes?”


“No ta – but thanks aal t’ same!” says CunningHam. “Ah’ ve got t’ Sky Movies package an’ can stream aal t’ films ah like, reight ‘ere at ‘ome – aal in high definition. No need ter venture aat!”


“Wot abaat night clubbin’?” says Mr Wulluf, ‘is blood nah boiling, yet still desperately tryin’ ter think on ‘is paws whilst presentin’ a calm demeanour. “Ah bet tha’d like ter meet a good lookin’ gilt or maybe tha’d prefer a sow wi mooare experience? Appen ah cud easily fix thee up? Wot say ah pick thee up araand 9 o’clock tomorrow?”


“No ta” says CunningHam. “Ah’ reckon ah’m gay! Ah jus’ haven’t cum aat yet! Besides ah’m also agoraphobic! But thanks f’ askin’.”


“Well ah reckon tha’s jus’ tekin t’ Michael nah!” barked Mr Wulluf loudly, throwing aal caution ter t’ wind. “Appen ah’ll jus’ ‘ave ter do this t’ hard way an‘ climb daan t’ chimney an’ gobble thee up!” An’ wi that ‘e started climbin’ up t’ side o’ t’ house.


Well wen CunningHam saw what Mr Wulluf wer abaat, ‘e cacked issen fer a minute or so – but then ‘e remembered ‘is mothers words an’ suddenly ‘e had a plan! CunningHam hung a large pot o’ water over ter fire an’ stoked it up until it wer reight  blazing - an’ t’ water wer’ boilin away like a bucket o’ angry wasps. Then ‘e waited....


Luckily f’ im, Mr Wulluf ‘adn’t noticed wot ‘e wer up ter  - an’ so wi aat onny hesitation dived straight daan t’ chimney at ‘is earliest opportunity... an’ straight in ter t’ pot o’ boiling water.  No sooner wer Mr Wulluf in t’ pot wen Cunningham slamed on a lid an’ fastened it daan. And that, as they say,  wer t’ end o’ Mr Wulluf!


Well almost.


Yes ‘e wer dead – but CunningHam wern’t finished wi ‘im yet. CunningHam invited ‘is mother ova ter morn t’ loss o’’ is brothers an’ share a meal o’ crispy fried Wulluf in pancakes. (Well, they were ominvores after all!) In fact, they both pigged themselves ‘till theyer sides squealed!


T’ next night CunningHam then paid homage ter ‘is favourite movies – T’ Hog Father Trilogy, an’ took Mr Wullufs boiled, severed head, an’ snook it in ter AbraHams bed while ‘e wer sleeping. Wen ‘e woke up in t’ morning. AbraHam faand Mr Wulluf’s head staring’ lifelessly back at him.

Being a thoroughbred Hamster, AbraHam understood the message perfectly and nivver bothered CunningHam ivver agayen. So they each lived happily ivver after!


T’ End