T’ Incident In Badger’s Chuff Wood

T’ other week ah wer labourin’ up at Highfield Farm coz me mate Big Ron wer short staffed. After a long 'ard day, we decided ter chill aat by tekkin an evenin’ stroll t’ look at sum owd badger sets.  It wer a pleasant warm evenin’ wi flecks o’ pink just appearin’ in t’ sky .

Atter abaat a 15 minute walk, we cum ter a little wood , that encompassed a bronze-age ‘henge’. In t’ centre o’ that, wer a raised circular mound an’ t’ remains o’ an owd stone circle. It wer 'ere that t’ badgers ‘ad dug aat a few sets. It med fer a stonkin’ undisturbed habitat f’ aal t’ local forna an’ wildlife.

Wen ah say undisturbed. Wot ah actually meant like, wer that it wer undisturbed by most people. But ‘most people’ dint include t’ odd romantic couple lookin’ fer a romantic place t’ mek aat - ooer t’ local hunt wot regularly run havoc thru Big Ron’s land wi aat askin’.

“Appen there’s no badgers in these ‘ere sets nah!” says Big Ron. “They’ve buggered off yonder under them big oak trees on far side o’ t’ henge. T’ hunt brigade moved ‘em on by default by gallopin’ thru ‘ere chasin’ foxes wi hounds an’ horns, callin’ aat an’ mekin’ such a ruckus. But ah reckon t’ badgers got t’ last laugh, coz nowadays, wen t’ hunt is on t’ scent o’ a fox, it ‘ll often dart in ter t’ tunnels med by yon badgers, an’ cum aat in a different part o’ t’ wood. It confuses t’ hounds ter buggery an’ sum even get stuck an’ need ter be dug aat!”

“Well ah nivver!” ah says, gaining a new understanding as ter why foxes are called sly.

“Onnyroad, ah’ve ‘ad a complaint fra T’ Master O’ T’ Hunt” says Big Ron, emphasising the word ‘hunt’ wi mooer than a little distain! “Wants me ter fill in t’ sets!? ’e cum up ter me a couple o’ weeks back, on ‘is big white ‘oss, it snortin’ like buggery an’ stomping t’ graand like it wer ‘avin a paddy o’ it’s own;  an’ ‘e leaned daan slowly, an’ wi quivering lips like ‘e wer gonna cry, says ter us in a reet plumy voice, ‘e says, “I'll have you know you keep ruining my day old chap! Ruining my day!”

“Tosser!” ah says!

“Rich tosser” corrected Big Ron. “But ‘e ‘is a member o’ t’ Parish Caancil an’ is ‘e’s  got connections wi t’ famer’s union – so ‘e cud easily mek me life difficult if ‘e wants. So ah thowatt perhaps ah’d tek a butchers at’ t’ sets agayen f’ me sen.”

Ah wer just a baat ter say summat gay abaat men oo like osses, wen a reet posh lookin’ oss box pulls up in t’ lane on t’other side o’ t’ henge – an aat steps a pretty young thing an’ a much older gentlemen. T’ latter being clearly wealthy fra ‘is clothes an’ demeanour. Fra our lofty position on t’ henge, me & Big Ron could see t’ couple easily - but judging fra aal theyer furtive glances raand, they ‘adn’t spotted us.

“Well bugger me!” says Big Ron nudging me in t’ ribs. “Appen that’s T’ Master O’ T’ Hunt issen! Ohhh, an’ ‘is secretary!"

As we watched, T’ Master O’ T’ Hunt brings aat a big woollen blanket -  an’ she happily waves a packet o’ contraceptives at ‘im. Then quick as a flash ‘es ‘eplin’ ‘er ova t’ fence aal gentlemanly like, an’ she’s giggling like a pubescent school girl. Then they vanish in ter t’ bushes at t’ foot o’ t’ great oak!

“Appen ‘e’s giving her a riding lesson!” ah says.

“’e did do a little pole vault over t’ fence!” agreed Big Ron. “Good job it weren’t electric!”

“That wud be shocking” ah says nodding.

“Best us stay ‘ere f’ a little while” says Big Ron, “coz ah reckon yon badgers ’ll be cumin aat pretty soon. Tis abaat that time o’ evenin’ tha kno’s.”

So we did - an ah wondered wot ‘e wer gettin at. But ah didn’t ‘ave ter wait long ter find aat.

 It started wi a gentle moaning, then a heavy panting, then suddenly a hell of a noise that sanded like someone wer bein’ strangled ooer wer drownin’ in ‘is own blood.

Ah’m guessin’ tha’s probably nivver ‘eard t’ saand o’ a group o’ pissed off badgers at night time afore, well me neither, but ah assure thee it saands reet cruel. They can be mean buggers too. Willin’ t’ fight tooth an’ nail ter defend theyer home.

Well t’ bushes started thrashin’ abaat widely an’ suddenly wi’ aat warning, T’ Master O’ T' Hunt dives aat like ‘is arse was on fire, pants still raand ‘is ankles. ‘e does a commando roll, then ‘e’s daan t’ field an’ ova yon’ fence like a scolded cat. Next cums t’ lassie, naked fra t’ waist daan, blanket an’ knickers in one hand, shoes skirt an’ handbag in t’ other – runnin’ fer ‘er dear life.

Ah felt reet sorry for her! T’ Master O’ T' Hunt didn’t stop ter help ‘er ova t’ fence that time. No, ‘e wer 50 yards ahead o’er. In fact ‘e wer back in t’ oss wagon wi t’ engine running by t’ time she got theyer.

Big Ron an’ me laughed until our sides hurt! An then we laughed aal ova agayen!

“Ah’m gonna really enjoy tellin' that hunting lot they can get stuffed, an’ ter keep off me land in future!” says Big Ron trying ter catch ‘is breath. “An’ if T’ Master O’ T’ Hunt gets aal haughty like, ah’ll remind ‘im o’ t’"incident at Badgers Chuff Wood" tonight. Ah’m shuer ‘is wife will be enthralled!”

“Ah’ll drink ter that!” ah says.

Well it wer reet late by t’ time ah finally got ‘ome. Ah remember feeling jiggered but ‘appy after a wonderful day o’ worrkin’  aat in t’ fresh air - and driftin’ off ter sleep thinkin’ o’ that young lassie an’ knowin’ ah’d be stiff in t’ morning.

Bumpy Awkright’s Christmas Present

“So wot did tha get fer Christmas then?”

Appen it wer t’ fust question on ivverybody’s lips wen Joe Sykes, Big Ron, Bumpy Awkright an’ me, met fer us post Christmas paant daan t’ Angel Inn on New Year’s Day.

Eyes travelled raand t’ room, fra one ter anuther, like a game o’ Chinese Whispers at a meeting o’ COBRA.

“Depressed!” ah says, answering fust.

“Bloody ear ache fra t’ missus!” says Joe.

“Pist!” says Big Ron smiling.

As six eyes landed on Bumpy, awaitin’ ‘is reply, ‘e remained unusually silent. In fact his silence wer very unusual! T’ musician an’ aal raand hell raiser amongst us, ‘e wer naturally allus shaatin’, singin’,  ooer mekin a ruckus o’ sum kind. So we instantly knew summat wer up.

“A tortoise!” says Bumpy eventually, 'is face as straight as roman road.

Six eyeballs suddenly swivelled in Bumpy’s direction.

“Wot?” says Joe, Big Ron an’ me in unison.

“A chuffin tortoise!” repeated Bumpy.

Six eyebrows raised in question?

“Ah thowatt it maaght be nice ter ‘ave us a pet in us new ‘ouse” continued Bumpy, “summat welcomin’ fooer me an our ’ Sally ter cum ‘ome ter atter a long day at work!”

“But a tortoise?” says Joe incredulously.

“Well, ah wer thinkin’ o’ a kitten me sen.” says Bumpy. But ah’m not reet good wi livin’ things. Even plastic flowers die on me. So our lass says ah have ter prove me sen wi a tortoise an’ then work up’ard ter summat less breakable.”

“Ah picked up a tortoise once” ah says. “But wen ah I shook it - it fell aat! Appen they are really ugly naked!”

“Aye, like Ghandi wi a bus shelter on ‘is back!” added Joe helpfully.

“Not reight good wi livin’ things?” queried Big Ron. “Explain?!”

“Reckon ah’ve not ‘ad much luck wi lookin’ atter animals!” says Bumpy answering Big Ron. “Summat allus ‘appens ter ‘em....”

“One o’ t’ good things abaat tortoises...” ah says, “is that you can easily avoid them... unless you get a particularly fast one.”

“Once, wen ah wer knee ‘igh ter a grass ‘opper” continued Bumpy ignoring me, “ah faand a family o’ hedgehogs in trouble on t’ road near us ‘ouse. Appen pooar Mrs Tiggywinkle ‘ad bin hit by a car – an’ aal t’ little tiggywinkies  wer jus’ craaded raand, waitin’ fer her ter move – not realisin’ that they cud be squished by passin’ cars at onny moment. So ah picked ‘em aal up an’ took em ‘ome.”

“That wer nice o’ thee” says Joe.

“On t’ way” continued Bumpy, “ah noticed they wuz infested wi little fleas an’ mites - so wen ah got ‘ome ah dusted ‘em in flea powder t’ mek ‘em feel better; put ‘em in a nice warem box, tucked ‘em in wi a blanket; an left ‘em ova night aat o’ t’ wind, in t’ shelter o’mi porch ter sleep off theyer trauma. But wen ah got up t’ next day, they wer aal deead. Seems ah’d used me father’s DDT instead o’ t’ flea powder.”

“Oh dear!” ah says.

“Easy mistake ter mek” says Big Ron. “An’ tha dint hurt ‘em on purpose like – so it’s not quite t’ same!”

“Aye, just a bit o’ rotten luck!” says Joe.

“Ah then got a budgie” says Bumpy. “But ah nivver really bonded wi it. It nivver talked. It nivver even smiled. It just sort o’ sat theyer aal t’ time glaring at mi an’ shiftin’ fra one leg ter t’ other. Muttering an’ mekin’ plans ter escape wi’ it’s reflection in t’ mirror. Whisperin’ wi’ its sen like a couple o’ jail birds - an’aal t’ time sharpenin’ its beak on piece o’ cuttlefish ready t’ fight its way ter freedom. Nonetheless ah looked atter it as if me life depended on it.”

“Ah dunt doubt it!” says Big Ron.

“Before ah went ter work” continued Bumpy, “ah ripped up bits o’ newspaper an’ put ‘em in it's cage so that it ‘ad summat ter read while ah wer away. Then ivvery night wen ah got ‘ome, ah’d talk ter it, an’ then ah’d bathe it. Ah felt stupid gettin’ in ter t’ bath wi a budgie ah can tell thee! But ah’d scrub it daan, then blow dry it wi a hair dryer. Then ah’d serve us both dinner. In fact ah give it ivverythin’ ah had - egg an’ bacon in t’ morning, meat, two veg an’ gravy at night! An’ guess wot? T’ little bugger nivver ate it. Jus’ turned its snooty little beak up at it. Ah did ivverything ah cud fer that chuffin budgie -  an’ does tha kno wot it did ter thank me? It died aat o’ spite!

“That’s reet sad that is!” says Joe.

“Tweet sad” added Big Ron.

“At least tha tortoise will smile a tad fer thee” ah added helpfully. “Ah reckon tha can allus see a tortoise grinnin’ a bit wen it's going fer a piece o’ lettuce, if you've got onny imagination, like.”

“So then ah got a goldfish” says Bumpy. “It wer grand! It’d swim raand an’ raand in it’s bowl fer ivver blowin’ bubbles. So naturally ah called ‘it Bob.”

(Six confused eyeballs roamed t’ room in search o’ clarification – but not findin’ onny, re-focused back on Bumpy.)

One day ah accidentally discovered that Bob cud break-dance on t’ carpet! So ivvery day atter that ah got ‘im aat for a practise. At fust ‘e cud only last abaat 20 seconds ‘till ‘e wer reet jiggered an’ wanted a rest back in ‘is bowl. But wi each day wot passed, ‘is fitness improved.”

“Noooo!” ah says, mouth agape like a goldfish aat o’ water.

“Oh aye” continued Bumpy. “Bob used ter luv ‘is daily excercise! In fact, ‘ed get right excited wen ‘e saw me comin’.  ‘is little eyes would bulge aat o’ ‘is ‘ead wi excitement, an’ ‘e’d swim raand an’ raand ‘is bowl like ‘e wer tryin’ ter aat run a fire.  Then e’d squirm wi delight as ah lifted ‘im aat o’ is bowl. ‘e got reet good too. As ‘e got fitter an’ ‘is exercise period passed t’ four minute barrier, ‘e started includin’ back flips, twists, tumbles, pikes an’ summersaults in ter ‘is routine. Proper champion ‘e wer. But then one day’ e flipped right in ter t’ fire an’ kippered issen.  It wer terrible sad, like. Appen ah still get whiffs o’ ‘im wen ah light ter fire today!”

“Ah’ve allus said smokin’ wer bad fer thee!” says Joe.

“Ah reckon it wer suicide!” says Big Ron. “Goldfish are known fer bein’ reet dour!”

“But tha can’t go wrong wi tortoise!” ah says, seeking ter give Bumpy a modicum o’ comfort as ‘e wer clearly gettin’ a tad distressed.

“Aye, an they make great toys fer dogs wi no teeth!” says Joe enthusiastically. “'cos tha can throw ‘em, an’ if t’ dog can’t find ‘em, appen they’ll cum back aal by tha sens - eventually!”

“An they live fer a reet long taame” added Big Ron. “Like parrots - but wi aat aal t’ noise  ooer t’ mess!”

“Appen tha’d think so!” says Bumpy.

Six pupils collectively widened, then formed a sort o’ squint as they refocused expectedly on theyer unlucky associate.

“Ah reckon ‘e wer defective wen Sally got im fer us!” says Bumpy earnestly. “Appen she faand ‘im in a little run-daan pet shop behind t’ chippy on market street. Says ‘e wer aal alone in a cardboard box an’ painted on ‘is shell in tipex wer ter words, “20p ter clear”. Ther wer no food nor toys in ‘is box an’ wen she looked in ter ‘is little wizened eyes, she thowatt she saw a tear. T’ bloke be’ind ter caanter said, ‘e wer shuttin’ up shop fer good like an’ retirin’ ter Balearics fer t’ sun on ‘is arthritis. So unless ‘e went ter a good ‘ome sharpish like, t’ pooar little bugger wud end up as just another one o’ them little crunchie pies daan at Morrisons.”

There wer a little sniff fra behind me as Joe turned away ter get sum dust aat o’ ‘is eye.

“Well that wer enuf fer our lass” continued Bumpy, “she tuk ‘im fra t’ pet shop, tied ‘im wi a piece o’ string ter t’ back o’ ‘er mopped, an’ brought ‘im ‘ome. Appen ‘e wer greatful fer t’ tow like, coz she says she cud ‘ear ‘im singin’ aal t’ way.”

“Proper kind that is!” says Joe, recoverin’.

“Appen ah loved that little tortoise reet fra t’ off” says Bumpy. At night, ah'd place ‘im on t’ fire ter keep ‘is little feet warem. We’d both sit theyer glowin’ – jus’ happy in each other’s company.”

Another sniff – it wer Big Ron this taame.

“Appen ah taught ‘im ‘ow ter swim too!” continued Bumpy. “Ah wer so praad o’ ‘im! Ah’d chuck ‘im in ter t’ kid’s paddlin’ pool an’ watch ‘im sink. At fust ‘e just wandered abaat on ter bottom -  but then ah showed ‘im ‘ow ter use ‘is legs properly. An’ atter that ‘e wer a natural. ‘e’d spend whole atternoons bombin’ up an daan t’ pool doin’ t’ breaststroke , ooer simply floatin’ on ‘is back fer hours on end.”

“Aww, that’s nice!” says Joe an’ Big Ron together.

“But then yesterday, New Years Eve” says Bumpy, ‘is eyes gettin’ suddenly aal watery, “cum t’ day wot welcomes aal creatures great ooer small, sooner ooer later. ‘e wer aat side, bein’ t’ ball in a game o’ touch rugby wi yon kids daan t’ street, wen aat o’ nowhere cum a drunk driver. Unbelievably, as ‘is car bounced fra one kerb ter t’other, ‘e managed ter miss aal t’ kids (which is mooare than theyer parents did) yet hit my little buddy, smashin’ ‘im against t’ wall wi a terrific force like ‘ed’d bin shot fra a rocket launcher. T’ bastard dint even stop. By t’ taame ah got theyer, aal ah cud find wer bit’s o’ ‘is shell.”

“Ee that’s chuffin terrible, that is” says Big Ron blowin’ ‘is nose on a bar towel an’ usin’ it ter dab ‘is eyes.

“Aye, weird karma shit, that is” says Joe wi another sniff.

“Aye, weird karma indeed” agreed Bumpy slowly pulling himself together. “But appen aals well wot ends well”, ‘e says reachin’ fer ‘is paant wi renewed enthusiasm.

“Wot’s tha mean?” ah says.

“Appen, me an’ my little tortoise will be playin’ an’ singin’ t’gether fer monny a long year yet” says Bumpy. “Ah med ‘im in ter plectrums!”