Moggie Moo
Dedicated Member
Episode 5 When Advent Was a Load Of Flannel
It was getting dusk outside in the alley now. Sid looked out as he wiped down the countertop with his dish cloth. Blamire was sat at the middle table adjacent the cafe door, his elbows resting on the table holding his head in his hands as he read the pamphlet. "Do you want a top up on the house?" inquired Sid, " Aye go on then " sighed Blamire. Sid approached the table with the big teapot and refilled his cup with that acquired tea. " I mean we should have expected it, we've been here before, although last time we were only lads. It was summat yer mum and dad worried about." said Sid, heartily. "Strewth! I do not know who wrote this down at the Ministry, it’s like reading a certain persons’ betting ready reckoner. Have you seen what's in that? you could practically build a secret weapon with some of those formulations and tables contained therein. It even has time and piece rate tables which are never gonna be any use to him in a month of Sundays. I digress, look at this lot, points for Bacon, points for Butter, you can only have so many points for this and use some of those for that, ye gods, are we gonna have points for walking the dog next." exclaimed Blamire. “I’m just glad she never got that dog in the pet shop window." quipped Sid as he lowered the big teapot back onto the counter. "All soft and cuddly, but it'll be me at some point taking cuddles for a walk, tin hats and all." muttered Sid as he turned off the tea urn. Blamire lit a player, took a sip of his tea, pulled a disdaining facial reaction, and replaced the cig in his mouth. He picked up the pamphlet, folded it in half and put it in his inside jacket pocket. He shouted across to Sid, "When are they due these ration books then." "Sometime this week by all accounts, but you know what the G.P.O. is these days." replied Sid. "Here we are, Advent 1940, waiting for the Fatherland's Luftwaffe to appear again. It'll be Sheffield again I expect, they copped it the other night. Hey! Cyril give us hand to put this blackout up." " Of course, lad" responded Blamire as he jumped to his feet. Between them they lifted the blackouts up in place and an out of breath Sid spoke, " I'll put a light on, do you want another cuppa?" " Have you a mince pie as well? I don't have to meet them until seven, up at the chapel." chuckled Blamire. " Go on then, make the most of it 'cos she's not here, you wait, when this rationing lark comes in our lives will be a misery. She'll make sure of that." replied Sid, he continued, "have you been to the new head office yet? It's that big building at the top of Piece Hall." " No not yet, its tomorrow my appointment, I think, I have to register those two as well, I'm guarantor for that tatty Herbert, only God knows why, and Cleggy put me down as his next of kin. He said he would put all his trust in me after I rescued him from that new barber that took over from Judd. Antonio, they call him, he said to Cleggy that he had never seen anyone so much in need of a good coiffuring. Well, blimey, I stood up and told Antonio, look! short back and sides and leave anything on top, we don't DO coiffuring, he's a widower you know. I got Clegg up from the chair and marched him out. We went to him up Bank Street." sternly stated Blamire as he glared. " How did you go on there then" mused Sid." Well, we had to go and get a couple of plasters from the Chemist, I thought Butcher was his surname not his profession. That bloke wants calling up immediately where he can do more good in the recruitment facilities." squawked Blamire. Laughing, Sid said " Aye when they see those locks falling to the floor and their heads are cold, all they can think about is getting stuck in to get the fighting done and back home to their mams." They both laughed and Blamire took a drink of his tea. Sid was now behind the counter putting things away and getting ready for tomorrow's breakfasts. Blamire sat back in the chair and inhaled some inspiration from the strength of the tobacco letting the smoke escape from his mouth and curl up above his head as he pondered the ensuing limited allotments. There was a knock at the door, Sid had put the CLOSED sign up, "I'll get it Sid" Blamire called out. He went to the door and looked out, " Carol singers" he said looking across at Sid. "Open up then, let's have a treat" said Sid getting a few coppers out of the till. On opening the door Blamire was greeted with "Merry Christmas Mister" from half a dozen youths. "The same to you" replied Blamire. " Go on then give us a song," laughed Sid. The Kids started to sing, oh so angelic, pure genuineness for the season:
"WE THREE KINGS OF ORIENT ARE,
ONE IN A TAXI, ONE IN A CAR
ONE ON SCOOTER, BLOWING HIS HOOTER,
SMOKING A BIG CIGAR!"
Blamire Shrieked raising his left arm to shoo them off," Thats not a Christmas Carol, you cheeky monkeys."
" You're not Father Christmas neither", shouted back the soprano as the youths retreated down the alley. " I'll be seeing your dad later tonight; I'll tell him what you're up to." Shouted Blamire. The soprano shouted back," It was mi dad that taught us it. Na na, na, na na" "Put that light out" shouted the Warden up at the top of the alley. Blamire came back inside and closed the door and blackout. "Sorry Sid, I'll be getting you into trouble." " It's that Greengrocer, Hodges, thinks he king of the night since they made him chief warden, you should see what he's charging for sprouts this year." brusked Sid "Half past four! Is your clock right Sid, I better be going" exclaimed Blamire. " Ok I'll see you up at the concert later" replied Sid. As Blamire slipped out of the door Sid quickly adjusted the black out and Blamire marched up the alley. Hunching his shoulders in his overcoat as the frost and darkness had come down early tonight. He began to wonder what those two had been up to. They had gone up to Shibden to help Compo's mate sort out a ferret for the local show. He lived at the back of the Windmill pub, a Webster's house so chances are that's where they would end up. Blamire wanted to call at the Tailors to inquire about a new suit. He thought he would treat himself but when he arrived at the Tailors, it was closed for the duration due to the internment policy. The shop keeper next door told Blamire that they had been sent to the Isle of Man last year, there was hell on about it in Parliament. ‘Peace in our time’ Blamire thought to himself, ‘who’s going to make up the pieces if they keep arresting the tailors’.
Blamire climbed the steps up to the Chapels front door. It was open and a lady of small proportions was handing out Hymn sheets for tonight's carol concert. " Bless you " she uttered as Blamire lifted his hat to acknowledge her. He proceeded into the inner sanctum his eyes glancing left and right to find his cohorts attending this evening's seasonal extravaganza. His trained eye for such occasions only looked for a green woolly hat and there it was, fourth row down, right opposite the kitchen entrance. " Shove up" insisted Blamire as he approached the row. "I DO hope you're not worse for wear this evening. I know what your like if you are let off your leash. Bob would have to be ready with an army of Tetley Bitter Men to keep pace with you." interrogated Blamire. A sedate Compo simply raise him a victory sign and but his hand back in his pocket." Is he in a STUPOR! senseless in drink, he doesn't look glazed." crowed Blamire, trying to look at Compo straight in the face. " Relax sit down, let me explain," chirped Cleggy. " We trailed up to Shibden and sorted some ferrets out with his mate Jess. After that we thought, just time for a nice pint and a pie. The Windmill was open, we entered and ordered our drinks. Well, you know Harry North, he doesn't mix his words. Like a cold wind from Queensbury Mountain, he raised his voice and shouted," "What the chuffing 'ell are you doing up here, I hope you don't think yer getting a drink. You do realise there's a war on, I have only one barrel of mild left to last until God knows when and if those farmers up on the tops come down here and there's no ale it'll be me that cops it. I am not risking my neck for him who drinks like there's no tomorrow, so hop it."" I did reply" sulked Cleggy," I said, I suppose a tiny shandy is out of the question then, well that broke the camel's back because he came back at me with such an enthusiastic fanatical verbosity, stopping short of summoning the secret police. It got his message home as we skulked backwards out of the door and legged it to the bus stop."" It's started already? Rationing, I only read the pamphlet this afternoon," exclaimed Blamire." What! Bloody rationing? it was bad enough last time we were here," cursed Wally, "Cheese! you couldn't get it for love or money, and I worked on the railway." he continued." Ssssh" whispered Blamire, " let's talk about it later we don't want panic." he continued, "What's the supper tonight?" he said looking at Cleggy." Cheese on Toast," laughed Clegg. " Oooo, my favourite, toasted cheese supper and Mackeson." drawled Compo squirming in his seat. The concert started and proceeded without any hitch; the youths were in the choir, but they sang the correct words. Blamire did listen attentively, glaring at the soprano when he caught his gaze. Sid had been drafted to kitchen duties with Nora and Ivy. There was no Mackeson's but plenty of tea. Nora said harshly to Wally," I suppose you'll be going to the White Horse after then? think on, behave yourself." Wally looked up timidly saying " Just one, I'll just have one, for, for cordiality." " Think on, stay off the cordial, you don't need anything medicinal you've been regular all week," asserted Nora.
The White Horse was full this evening, many of the concert go'ers had come in for a drink. Sid had been excused by the kitchen police if he didn't start any funny business when he got home. Sid levitated a comment about the beer," this is a good pint of Websters tonight, the barmaid said they might have to weaken it once rationing kicks in." Compo quipped laughing " Sid, if you don't leave that barmaid alone Ivy will be kicking you into next week." " I was only being friendly" squirmed Sid. He lit his pipe, leaning forward he whispered, " her brothers a Spiv, he can get you anything, she says."" Messing around there! will get you, locked up." retorted Blamire. They discussed the oncoming rationing situation. It revolved around how the beer and tobacco could possibly be supplemented. In their recollection's this seemed to a major problem for them the first time around. Compo laughed,” he ‘ee I remember this bird in the Naafi, her husband must have been a terrible driver, ‘cos stuff was always falling of the back of his lorry, she would swap us packets of fags for toilet rolls if we purloined them from the barracks.” Clegg replied in a serious tone, “Did you get the newspaper delivered daily to your hut then.” “We did Norm, that lad went on to own a string of shops. Mac Kenley, or something, was his name, I know he was Scottish anyhow,” replied Compo. “W.H. Something, I don’t remember than chain of shops,” quipped Blamire. Three pints a piece later, Blamire contemplated with a glazed expression and suddenly exclaimed with an enthusiastic approbation,” home brew, can’t we concoct our own elixir, let's say, for medical purposes?” “I think we need to keep that one quiet Blamire, or the revenue man will be knocking at your door, with a suggestion of you holidaying with Al Capone," warned Cleggy. “It's legal, only that you have to register to pay duty, which sort of takes the edge of it, but one consolation is that the wives usually organise the yeast train, I won’t mind the job of collecting the leaven,” intervened a sparkly eyed Sid. “What time does that get in then,” inquired Compo, as Wally drawled,” It's one of those London Trains, every Tuesday from Kings Cross,” desirously laughing as his cordial negotiated the conversation. “Well maybe we will have to put brewing on the back burner for now until we see what ingredients are available, although there are plenty of carrots about, we could transverse into wine making,” remarked Blamire. Compo lit a cig, looked at Blamire and said," carrots help you to see in the dark, don’t they?” That’s correct, but we don’t want to be looking at your attire all night, do we?” replied Blamire. “No listen! listen, if carrots help you see in the dark, why does carrot wine make you blind drunk?” laughed Compo throwing himself back into his seat. “Well, that’s all folks! come on before the queue starts at the fish shop.” interjected Cleggy jumping up out of his chair, to calls for him to,” hang on we haven't supped up yet” from the remaining Holmfirth Bootlegging Gang, clambering to their feet to chase after him.
They all stood quietly in the queue as it snaked its way to the counter. Compo rested his chin on the countertop. It was stainless steel, with a salt and vinegar pot positioned for application. Suddenly Compo yelled,” flaming Nora that’s hot,” as he burnt his chin on the top. Fred the fish fryer looked at Compo and said,” how many times have I told you about that?” “Oh, I don’t know, hundreds?” winced Compo, he continued in a serious tone, "Hey Fred, do you know why they never cook octopuses in fish shops?” “We are in Holmfirth you know, it's not Bridlington, we don’t do exotic,” grunted Fred “Nothing to do with exotic, it's because they keep reaching out of the fryer and turning the gas off,” laughed Compo squirming and burning his chin on the top again. “Serves you right, what time do you have to have him back?" said Fred looking across at the other gang members. Sid piped up,” you know what he’s like, we tried to get him into Military Intelligence, to send him over to disrupt Hitler, you know, like a secret weapon to confuse and bewilder his High Command, put the mockers on an invasion, but they refused to accept him as they didn’t have a scruffy enough uniform to lend him,”” Not only that his passport had run out,” chirped Cleggy, “To cap it all they couldn’t find his intelligence,” added Blamire. “That’s true, I must have misplaced it” sighed Compo. “I offered my services, but they said I wasn’t tall enough, I even pleaded with them for Nora’s sake,” drawled Wally. “Come on you lot get your chips and get yourselves tucked up in bed for the sake of everyone's sanity and safety.” pleaded Fred. They wished him a good night and left him cursing the fat that had just spat at him.
The next morning, down in Piece Hall Yard, Blamire climbed the steps up to the new head office. At the top of the stairs, he stood and looked along the wood panelled corridor for the door. The third door along had an official looking brass plate, ‘Department of Emoluments for Specters and Phantoms of substantial existence’ underneath it someone had drawing pinned a white card stating, ‘Apparitions please use the next door along’. He twirled his moustache, adjusted his hat and went through the brass plated door. He sensed it was a long wide massive room, similar to the dole office down Nelson Street. Mist swirled as a matter of privacy from any interlopers not related to the nirvana and blessedness of Blamires world. He could hear what sounded like, someone stamping postal orders. There was that smell again, that odour of sanctity he smells up at his pigeonhole. There was a chime, he looked forward and his name was lit up on a window which had appeared. A voice demanded, “Yes! Yes! Is that Blamire? Blamire, Cyril, with associates? come on man, we’ve thousands to get through today.” “Sorry your eminence, I mean illustriousness,” blundered Blamire, tipping his hat as he approached the window. There was a short balding man, horn-rimmed glasses, shaving brush moustache under his nose, clad in a black morning coat, with starched collar and black tie. Next to him stood a celestial figure with no apparent features or distinguishable form, but it was possible to see it was responsible for the stamping sound. There was a pile of envelopes, with three set aside. “Now Mr. Blamire here are your allotted emoluments for this coming fortnight, it’s two weeks because we’ve had a busy Advent, we have not caught up from Michaelmas and this move to Piece Hall has thrown up some complications, not to mention there’s a war on. Now I understand one of your associates is a rather scruffy individual. Is that correct?” Blamire replied sheepishly “Yes, the tatty one, a Mr Simmonite, no relation of course, they say it’s a medieval name you know. I don’t know about medieval; he can be a right,” “Mr Blamire, I’m a busy man,” demanded the official cutting Blamire off mid-sentence. The official continued calling out,” cherub first class! have you got that other envelope? the one with the social security payment?” The cherub pointed to a blue envelope on the official's counter. “Ah! thank you” said the official, he continued to a gaped Blamire,” In this sealed envelope there is a ten shilling and sixpence postal order, it has to be used to purchase a good pair of trousers for Mr. Simmonite, is that understood?” “Yes,” stuttered Blamire, shaking his head. The official continued,” there is also an extra Pound for each of you this year, as a reward and bonus for your escapade last Christmas. The people upstairs were very impressed, but they did not have to deal with all the extra paperwork you caused. However, I ‘am a very busy man and I must get on. Good day to you Mr. Blamire,” The window hatch closed and Blamire still stunned from the issuing of the social security payment, managed to turn around and make his way out and back down the stairs. Outside he lit a player and said to himself, “I don’t believe it, National Assistance is a religion.”
Walking along Huddersfield Road Blamire could see Wally struggling along with a basket of pigeons. As they approached each other Wally was first to speak, “Ha, do Cyril, I’ve got a bit of a head this morning, Nora clattered me when I got in. There was hell to pay. Cursing me ‘cos I knew we were moving to the new house this after’” drawled Wally in his usual unperturbed manner. Blamire smiled and said jovially, “Hair of the dog is it,” “I’d love a whippet, but you know what she’s like, thinks I would make more of a fuss of that than her, I mean I don’t even make a fuss of her now,” sighed Wally. He continued effortlessly, “the vans coming at two, we haven’t got a lot and what we’ve got is not much cop really, but she’s happy as long as she’s got some where to put her hats. It’s the mill house at Harris’s Twill factory, Nora got it with her new job. She’ll be charring for them in lieu of rent. It’s a couple of hours a day, but there’s a big allotment outback, some hen coups and a loft for mi birds. I have to look after the gatehouse, checking deliveries in and out. Its Four Pound a week so it’ll pay for corn and that.” finished an exuberant Wally. “So where are you going now with that lot?” asked Blamire. “I’m nipping up to Penistone Market to see if I can get a dozen chickens and a couple of rabbits, I’ll sell these pigeons, they should make good money. I love a boiled egg of a morning, what with rationing on the cards I want to make sure I’ve got a supply, ‘sides, I can get a corn allowance,” winked Wally. “Allowance, what do you mean Wal?” queried Blamire. “I can get feed for mi chickens, or perhaps some brewing,” Wally winked again. “Ah, I'm with you,” acknowledged Blamire, touching his nose as he winked back. The Penistone bus arrived at the stop and as Wally clambered on to the bus, he turned and shouted to Blamire, “come round tonight, she’s having a housewarming, it’s certainly cold enough, Sid and Ivy will be there, so bring Compo and Clegg.” “Will do!” shouted back Blamire waving as the bus started off. Blamire made his way to Sid’s Palace, he was getting a bit parched, and he could just about risk a cup of Sid’s over steeped Camellia sinensis.
Blamire opened the door into the café, the clientele was sparse, his co-conspirators had not arrived yet. He stood at the counter, greeted Ivy who came out of the kitchen, “good day madam, may I have a cup of that delicious and most widely consumed drink in the world, other than plain water that is, and a bun of some stickiness.” “We've got tea and a bun, what we haven’t got is time for individuals who read something in the Yorkshire Evening Post, then come out to play, stating satirical comments at unsuspecting proprietors trying to make a living, three ha’ pence for the tea, penny for the bun, price increase, there’s a war on,” scowled Ivy. Blamire offered a whimpering expression, paid his money and with a silent apology, retreated honourable to sit at his usual table. Seconds later the door abruptly swung open as Compo hurled through, like that medieval social phenomenon, a St. Vitus dance patron, twisting and skipping whistling through his teeth, throwing himself into to his seat at the table. Clegg came in after him, his eyes were watered with laughter. He too threw himself down on a seat. Both Ivy and Blamire were captivated by what had occurred as Compo and Clegg sat there laughing. “Hey up! this is a respectable establishment, if you're in drink you can leave right now, you'll be bringing loose women in next, come on out of it, "bellowed Ivy. “No, no, let me explain, "declared a now more sedate Cleggy, “you see, we were coming passed Harris’s and some of the lasses were changing shifts, Victor Sylvester here ‘shouted can you lot jive then?’ and one big lass said, ‘can you do the Shorthouse shuffle?’ The gauntlet was thrown, they came into a hold, right there on the cobbles, three of the other lasses started to sing,’ In the Mood,’ off they went, he had all the right moves, stepped in time, wiggled their assets, under arm twists, hops, knee skips, then came the show piece. He was going to catch her and throw her between his legs, over each shoulder and do the splits. Well, they faced each other, she stood there, hands on her hips twitching to the song, he stood opposite, all smiles and bravado, he summoned her, she charged at him like a wild virago, he poised ready to catch her. Amazingly he caught her as she launched herself at him, but as he moved to swing her through his legs, he put his foot on someone's last banana skin and they both careered botanically into a dustbin midden, where they were, soon covered in recyclable waste of the compost type. The big lass who had just washed her hair and donned a clean pinny lifted herself up and looked at her friends who were all stood in silence, and she said,’ Betty, Betty, if my lipstick is smudged, I ‘m gonna give him what for.’ Her mates shouted 'Yes! Alice, it is' She sort of growled, not unlike one of those Hunsworth pork pies past it’s sell by date, she picked up a full dustbin of what was probably for the swill man and chased him down the cobbles. Eventually she threw it at him, but it was deflected by Sam Crowthers coal cart. Victor here, made his getaway all Charlie Chaplin like, up a ginnel in Alma Street. When I caught up to him outside, he was still tripping the light fantastic, he was still in mood, but I see now he’s gone into a more moonlight serenade mode.” At that moment Sid came in through the door,” sorry I’m late love, I called at Hunsworth’s for some more pies, those others were a bit near.” “You flamin’ idiot get in that kitchen,” squawked Ivy at Sid as he dashed for cover before the second tray barrage ascended on him. A few minutes later Sid came out of the kitchen rubbing his head. Compo piped up, “there’s one thing wrong about this war Sid, instead of giving us a gas mask each, us men should’ve had a tin hat because I don’t see any end to these tray salvos.” “Aye you’re right there Compo, she tells me there’s been a spate of flying dustbins up Alma Street, teas all round then?” “He’s paying, any buns left?” asked Compo as he pointed to Blamire. “As anybody had any thoughts on this brewing lark?” replied Blamire handing around the emoluments. “I think Wally might have something up his sleeve,” he continued. “What, pigeon droppings?” slurped Compo putting his cup back down. “You will see that we’ve got a bit extra this week, perhaps a little investment in some brewing equipment and ingredients might be a wise move,” suggested Blamire. “Investment?” cringed Cleggy, “you mean spend money on brewing experiments, illegal or otherwise, I don’t think my sensory nerve portfolio could stand the peripheral porridge, "winced Cleggy. “Let's put ten shilling in each, with Wally, that ‘ll be two pound ten, surely, we can get something going with that,” enthused Sid. “I’m game for anything, but it won’t mean I have to put my back out, you know it’s prone to wear and tear,” demanded Compo. "Speaking of wear and tear, there’s a special payment for a certain individual under strict instructions from the Church of National Assistance, to cash a postal order, to purchase a new pair of trousers for Christmas. It is not for ciggies or for a bookie's runner to interfere with your apparel, which according to the gospel of social security must be worn on Christmas Day,” domineered Blamire, handing over the blue envelope to Compo. “You see, all those times you turned up in the congregation have paid off,” laughed Cleggy. “It's true Norm, I was devoted to that office, they were good to me, they kept the wolf from the door, but the telly man always got through,” sighed Compo. “We’ve been invited to Wally’s housewarming tonight so let's see what he has planned,” Said, Blamire putting his cig out in the ashtray.
That evening as they walked towards Harris’s, Compo had one eye on patrol looking for those lasses, especially the big one, he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a stray dustbin. It was getting dark, Blamire offered the cigarettes around,” come on, better have this before the blackout starts, or else that Hodges bloke will be down on us like a ton of bricks, Sid says the price of his sprouts are outrageous this year, imagine, profiteering from a brassica, I know they are nutritious, but that doesn’t mean it’s for the nutrification of his pocket,” proclaimed Blamire. “I think it’s just a load of wind aimed at an unsuspecting electorate, a zephyr, huffing and puffing to extinguish the candlepower of luminous intensity that should happen to irritate his eye,” laughed Clegg as he offered a lit match. Compo replied,” he was like that at school, when he was prefect for a week, he would charge you a penny if he caught you smoking behind the cycle shed, if you didn’t pay up, he would report you to old lump head. I can still feel the tingling from that cane.” “Needless to say, you tried to dodge the behind bike shed tax, nothing changes does it,” quipped Blamire. “Let's face it Blamire, he didn’t have a bicycle, or a decent pair of trouser pockets to keep any tax in, and the cigarettes were his mam’s.” said a gleaming Cleggy.
Nora checking that blackouts were up, turned on the kitchen light,” come through Ivy, Walter! Get Sidney a sherry.” “I'd think he would prefer a beer, come on in Sid, sit yourself by the fire,” insisted Wally manoeuvring Sid to a fireside chair, then reached into the sideboard for a bottle of beer and a couple of glasses. “We want a sherry, I 'am sure you can manage that,” instructed Nora from the kitchen. “Yes dear,” replied Wally, rolling his eyes to a silent curse. Sid looked on with a perplexed smile saying, "it always helps that little curse, takes the sting out of the indignation that we know is going to be levelled upon us throughout this evening,” “you’re right there Sid, it’s a cross, a cross we have to bear,” drawled Wally. Meanwhile in the kitchen, Nora said to Ivy, “thought I would try a victory roll tonight, what do you think?” she turned her forehead to face Ivy. “Looks like it might have run into some turbulence, sit there and let me titivate it a bit, I think it needs a bit less acrobatic and some more roll,” said Ivy as they both giggled, for at that moment they were back in their yesteryear. Hairdo complete, Nora and Ivy plated out some potted beef sandwiches, accompanied by a date and walnut cake. Ivy prepared the teapot whilst Nora laid out the best china. There was a knock at the door, Compo and company had arrived. “Come in lads, come through, Sid's already here,” said wally as he greeted them. They all made their convivial greetings as Wally directed them to some seating. He told Compo to get some beer and glasses out of the sideboard for themselves, then come and join them. “They're not quite ready for us yet in the kitchen, but that could be a blessing,” drawled Wally. They all laughed and consumed their beer. Sid spoke in a low secretive manner," Wally's in with us for the brewing lark, but will chat later, after tea,” They were summoned into the kitchen. They made their way in, Compo being first. On seeing Nora, he started to sing, “come fly with me, come fly with me,” Nora cut him short,” you can pack that in." Compo retaliated,” if I were a Spitfire Ace, I’d take you and your victory roll up there into the atmosphere, above the clouds, but you’d have to promise me that you wouldn't bring that yard brush, ‘cos it might slip into my propellor, then where would we be, but you could have me parachute. Then when you’ve landed, you’d have all that material to play with.” Blamire interceded,” sit down Ace, it’ll be too cold for you up there in those trousers.” “Will Biggles pass me the cruet please?” chirped Cleggy. Ivy laughed, “It’ll be the day if we ever see him wearing Brill cream, dressed all smart, but he’s always one of the queue when there’s mischief going on.” “Chocs away” giggled Sid as he took an éclair off the cake stand. “I’ve got a jelly setting on the back step, it should be ready now, I’ll go fetch it in,” gushed Nora. She bent down to pick up the dish which she had covered with a tea towel earlier and as she stood up; she saw a van come out of the mill yard. She looked to see whose it was, but the darkness obscured the colour and any identification. Once back in the kitchen she mentioned it to Wally. “It’s probably those Jessop lasses, they are looking after the boilers on the night shift, Gerrald will have dropped them off when he came down for the canteen swill for his pigs. They're big girls, you don’t want to be buying too much ale for those two on a Saturday night, the compromisations they’ve caused down at the Butchers Arms is unbelievable,” “How do you know,” scowled Nora. “He told me,” Squirmed Wally pointing at Compo. “Thats true Nora, even big Malcom avoids them” replied Compo, winking at Wally. Nora looked at Wally threateningly, “Aye! Well, they’ve not met me, shift yer feet and put some coal on the fire, then we can sit.” “Yes, my love" sighed Wally. They all moved into the sitting room where Wally along with Compo serviced them all with drinks. It wasn’t long before the conversation came around to Wally’s hen hut. He suggested that they might want to see the new hens he had bought, and without any hesitation they jumped up, put on their overcoats, topped up the ladies with more drink then followed Wally up to the hen hut. It was warm and cosey in the hen coup. “Are we going to decide a plan for this brewing lark then?” asked Blamire. “Listen” dictated Wally. “I want some more ale, Compo! Open that old tall boy.” Compo turned and released the latch on the double doors and opened them, an elated “hey! look at this, it's full of bottles of ale” said a gleeful Compo, passing over a bottle to Blamire. “Come on Cyril, frame yourself, there’s glasses in the crate yonder, pass ‘em round. Don’t be stingy with it, there’s plenty more.” ordered Wally. “How! What the, where “gasped Blamire. Sid’s face in merriment looked at Wally and in a blithesome trance said,” Wally you’ve got your own convivial retreat, a working man's paradise, even a dartboard to while away those rainy afternoons, a Dominoe sanctuary primed for endless games of fives and three’s.” He took a drink of his brew, whilst his eyes beamed around taking in the essence of this paradise, he then remarked” you would never have to call time, perfect.” “Have you started brewing then Wally?” asked Compo. “Ney, I donate to the Vicars church roof fund” laughed Wally, winking. “Church roof fund?” inquired Blamire. “Yes, I donate half a crown and get a crate of Ale, twelve-pint bottles.” enthused Wally. “The Vicar says it’s a reward for my kindness. I supply him with some corn when I get it. He uses it in his ecumenical recipes, for the bishops to fortify their pastoral care. I’m sure he will be accepting donations,” winked Wally. “I suppose it’s one way of bringing glad tidings and great joy to all mankind, but I’m not sitting on the ground, pass me that tea chest. When do we pay our two and six?” cheered Cleggy. “Let's pay subs weekly and I’ll keep the tall boy topped up,” suggested Wally. “I’ll drink to that,” said a squiffy Blamire. They all faced the tall boy, raised their glasses and toasted in unison, “The Tall Boy.”
The next morning Sid fidgeted to and fro between the counter and window, anticipating the arrival of Blamire. The doorbell chimed as Blamire entered. “Where ‘ve you been,” quizzed Sid, his eyes throwing a stare to Wally who was sat with his head in his hands, murmuring into his tea. “What's up,” gasped Blamire. “He’s been sat there for an hour, just murmuring, with the occasional I’m done for, she’ll flaming pulverise me.” informed Sid. “Give us a tea,” replied Blamire, making his way over to sit with Wally. “What's up lad?” enquired Blamire as he sugared his cup of tea. Wally looked up with worry in his eyes, anxiously he spurted, “it most have been that van last night, they’ve stolen a whole piece of grey flannel, those bloody Scouse Spivs. Nora will kill me when she finds out, I’ll be getting the sack that’s for sure. We’ll have to give up the house and everything.” Blamire consoled him and said, “how do you know it’s been stolen?” “Nobody knows yet, I’ve had a docket to let it out of the yard at five o’clock tonight when the burler and menders ‘s van comes for it. I went to the loading bay to make sure everything was in order, and it had disappeared. The Jessop lasses said that they thought it was just a normal pick up, they watched the men load it up into their van, Edna, the oldest reckoned one looked like Clarke Gable. She’d seen him before coming out of Antonio’s side door. Vera her sister said the other one, a Scouser, drinks in the Butchers Arms at lunchtimes. She’d seen them coming out the back of the interned tailors, Blomberg's, and they park their van up there.” “Is it expensive stuff this flannel?” asked Blamire. Wally replied, “Harris’s keep one loom for domestic pieces, the rest are running khaki, this grey flannel was for Saville Row, destined for the civil service.” “Those backroom boys, they get all the perks,” said Sid who had come over to the table,” hey up, Compo and Cleggy are here,” he continued.” I’ll get some more teas.” Blamire explained the situation to them.
“I see it like this, if they took it last night it may still be in the shop, they will be looking for a tailor to make up to order. We’ve got until five tonight to get the piece back. We need to check the shop,” instructed Compo. “Blimey” squawked Blamire. “You must admit, it’s his area of expertise” chuckled Cleggy. “I know I have had a few dalliances, but I think we need these Jessop lasses to help us out,” said Sid bashfully. He continued, “they could lure these blokes into the Butchers Arms, keep them busy, restrain them if required, while we shift the piece using my van. What do you think?” “I’ll go have a chat with Edna and Vera and see if they’ll help us,” said an elated Wally. Cleggy said he would go to the shop and see if the piece was still there, and they would all meet up back at the café in one hour.
Cleggy returned to the Cafe, leaning his bicycle against the wall he saw that his cohorts had returned. He opened the door and peered around the door. He immediately started to chuckle as he spoke. “I thought I was in Bridlington for a moment, somewhere between the Harbour Lights Pub and the Jolly Arcade.” Edna and Vera had come back with Wally, they had painted their lips bright Betty Hutton Red, donned nylons, and high fashioned coats with hats. Clutching matching handbags, they turned and smiled at Cleggy. He quickly tipped his cap and manoeuvred shyly towards Sid’s counter. Still chuckling he responded with “With all this glamour and this laughing policeman here, you can understand why sailors go a drift.” “Laughing policeman! You must be joking; he’s done nothing but moan about how much he had to pay old constable Arbuckle to rent his redundant uniform. Dressed like that you’d think his pockets would be full of money from people asking him to laugh or at least getting the pleasure of laughing at him.” whined Sid. Chipping in Compo retorted “I had to give him all my new trouser money, I’ve been robbed!” “You should have called a policeman! and by the way, pull your new trousers over those civilian's wellies, you’ll give the game away if those Spivs look at your feet.” coughed Blamire lighting up a Player. “The piece is still in the tailor's workshop. The lock is broken off. What's the plan gents?” Asked Clegg. Almost ecstatic Sid reaching his euphoric high declared “I’ll run the lasses up to the Butchers arms in my van, we will wait for the Spivs to come for lunch, then these two lovely lasses will entice them into the pub. Then I back the van up to the tailor’s workshop door where Blamire and Cleggy will load the piece into my van, and away we go to Harris's. Wally will open the gate to let us in.” “I being an officer of the law, Constable Simmonite, will patrol the beat right outside the tailor’s workshop to deter any Spivs or any unsavoury characters from disrupting proceedings m’ lud.” laughed a swaggering Compo.
Sid drove the van onto the Butchers arms carpark, he turned and smiled at the Jessop’s. “Ok girls make your way to the doorway and watch for those Spivs, its opening time.” The girls approached the pub door and looked down the street. Constable Simmonite was patrolling nonchalantly in front of the workshop door. He occasionally stopped and bent his knees before turning round and walking back towards the pub. He repeated this over and over for a good ten minutes. At that point he actually saw the Spivs approaching from Antonio’s. He signalled the Jessop’s who then walked into the street. The Jessop’s stopped to talk to the Spivs and charmed them into the pub to finalise details about doing some tailoring work. They had heard that they were looking for seamstresses looking for some essential war work.
Sid started up his van, looked over his shoulder and said “here we go lads, ready?” “Yup” gulped Cleggy as the van screeched off the carpark and up towards the workshop. Constable Simmonite, who by now had totally immersed himself into this new role, defiantly stood facing Sid’s van as it sped up the street, gesticulating the dreaded policeman's halt signal. Sid slammed on the brakes, throwing Blamire and Cleggy in a tumble, onto the front seat. The Constable approached the driver's window signalling Sid to wind it down. “Tha was going a bit too fast there me old lad, have you got your licence handy.” Said a stern-faced Constable. The occupants of the van all wide eyed and shocked at this point looked at each other summoning a unanimous cry of “The mans a FOOL, will somebody accompany him to the station, and let us out.” Compo back in reality ran to the back of the van and opened the doors,” Come on you lot stop messing about we’ve got a job to do here.” he chuckled. Blamire screamed, “that’s it, I’m cutting his tobacco ration right off.” “You see what happens when you become a police state, before you know it your subjected to all manners of hostility, my back will never be the same again, and to cap it all there’s a load of flannel to contend with.” winced Cleggy. “Come on, we don’t know how long those lasses can keep the Spivs occupied.” intervened Sid. All four of them ran into the workshop and with two at each end of the piece they lifted it and carried it to the van and slid into the back. Blamire and Cleggy climbed on top of it and Sid shut the back doors. “I’ll go stop the traffic” said Compo slipping back into his fantasy. “No! You won’t, you’ll get in the front with me and give us a police escort,” flapped Sid. He started the van, accelerated away back to Harris’s Twill Factory. Wally was pacing up and down at the loading gate waiting to back them in. “Come on lads, well done, we’ve got an hour to spare. What a relief,” he sighed. Blamire spoke with some urgence, “look lads we’ve got to get him out of that uniform before he starts taking all our names and addresses, he’s getting his note book out.” “He can get changed in the warehouse,” said Wally. “I’m beginning to think that uniform is more lethal than his wellies, I mean it's totally against his character, and up bringing, it goes against everything his family stand for, what ever would they think.” pleaded Blamire. “Maybe it's some psychological reaction to right and wrong, subdued by the poaching fraternity,” inquired Cleggy. At that moment Compo reappeared dressed in his old familiars, sniggering he chuckled,” Do you know Norm? I don't want anything to do with the law ever again, it must be hard work remembering all those regulations, and it don’t half make me head hurt; besides I would have to stop you all going to the Tall Boy for a drink, come on let's go.” Wally insistingly said,” go on lads you’ve earned it, I can’t leave here I better wait for the Burlers and Menders van, I don’t want any more mishaps, I’ll come up after.” Just as they pulled out of the gate in Sid’s van the Jessop lasses were coming into work. They were clad in their boiler suits, still sporting the Betty Hutton, which caused Sid to stop and wind down the window. “How did you go on with them Spivs then” shouted Sid across to the passenger window. Compo who was sat next to the window winked at Cleggy. “Our dad and mi four brothers came in and took the Spivs up see the pigs, I think he told them they liked Lancastrian swill and that they would have it the next time he saw their faces in Yorkshire,” smiled Edna. “Is Wally alright,” asked Vera. “Aye he’s fine, all is well,” laughed Sid. “Eh up! Compo, we hear you can cut a rug, why don’t you come to the Christmas Eve Dance in Harris’s Canteen. It's not fancy dress so no need for that policeman's unform.” laughed Edna. “You're on lass I’ll wear my Zoot Suit.” laughed Compo. “ZOOT SUIT” they all exclaimed, as the van began to drive off.
It was getting dusk outside in the alley now. Sid looked out as he wiped down the countertop with his dish cloth. Blamire was sat at the middle table adjacent the cafe door, his elbows resting on the table holding his head in his hands as he read the pamphlet. "Do you want a top up on the house?" inquired Sid, " Aye go on then " sighed Blamire. Sid approached the table with the big teapot and refilled his cup with that acquired tea. " I mean we should have expected it, we've been here before, although last time we were only lads. It was summat yer mum and dad worried about." said Sid, heartily. "Strewth! I do not know who wrote this down at the Ministry, it’s like reading a certain persons’ betting ready reckoner. Have you seen what's in that? you could practically build a secret weapon with some of those formulations and tables contained therein. It even has time and piece rate tables which are never gonna be any use to him in a month of Sundays. I digress, look at this lot, points for Bacon, points for Butter, you can only have so many points for this and use some of those for that, ye gods, are we gonna have points for walking the dog next." exclaimed Blamire. “I’m just glad she never got that dog in the pet shop window." quipped Sid as he lowered the big teapot back onto the counter. "All soft and cuddly, but it'll be me at some point taking cuddles for a walk, tin hats and all." muttered Sid as he turned off the tea urn. Blamire lit a player, took a sip of his tea, pulled a disdaining facial reaction, and replaced the cig in his mouth. He picked up the pamphlet, folded it in half and put it in his inside jacket pocket. He shouted across to Sid, "When are they due these ration books then." "Sometime this week by all accounts, but you know what the G.P.O. is these days." replied Sid. "Here we are, Advent 1940, waiting for the Fatherland's Luftwaffe to appear again. It'll be Sheffield again I expect, they copped it the other night. Hey! Cyril give us hand to put this blackout up." " Of course, lad" responded Blamire as he jumped to his feet. Between them they lifted the blackouts up in place and an out of breath Sid spoke, " I'll put a light on, do you want another cuppa?" " Have you a mince pie as well? I don't have to meet them until seven, up at the chapel." chuckled Blamire. " Go on then, make the most of it 'cos she's not here, you wait, when this rationing lark comes in our lives will be a misery. She'll make sure of that." replied Sid, he continued, "have you been to the new head office yet? It's that big building at the top of Piece Hall." " No not yet, its tomorrow my appointment, I think, I have to register those two as well, I'm guarantor for that tatty Herbert, only God knows why, and Cleggy put me down as his next of kin. He said he would put all his trust in me after I rescued him from that new barber that took over from Judd. Antonio, they call him, he said to Cleggy that he had never seen anyone so much in need of a good coiffuring. Well, blimey, I stood up and told Antonio, look! short back and sides and leave anything on top, we don't DO coiffuring, he's a widower you know. I got Clegg up from the chair and marched him out. We went to him up Bank Street." sternly stated Blamire as he glared. " How did you go on there then" mused Sid." Well, we had to go and get a couple of plasters from the Chemist, I thought Butcher was his surname not his profession. That bloke wants calling up immediately where he can do more good in the recruitment facilities." squawked Blamire. Laughing, Sid said " Aye when they see those locks falling to the floor and their heads are cold, all they can think about is getting stuck in to get the fighting done and back home to their mams." They both laughed and Blamire took a drink of his tea. Sid was now behind the counter putting things away and getting ready for tomorrow's breakfasts. Blamire sat back in the chair and inhaled some inspiration from the strength of the tobacco letting the smoke escape from his mouth and curl up above his head as he pondered the ensuing limited allotments. There was a knock at the door, Sid had put the CLOSED sign up, "I'll get it Sid" Blamire called out. He went to the door and looked out, " Carol singers" he said looking across at Sid. "Open up then, let's have a treat" said Sid getting a few coppers out of the till. On opening the door Blamire was greeted with "Merry Christmas Mister" from half a dozen youths. "The same to you" replied Blamire. " Go on then give us a song," laughed Sid. The Kids started to sing, oh so angelic, pure genuineness for the season:
"WE THREE KINGS OF ORIENT ARE,
ONE IN A TAXI, ONE IN A CAR
ONE ON SCOOTER, BLOWING HIS HOOTER,
SMOKING A BIG CIGAR!"
Blamire Shrieked raising his left arm to shoo them off," Thats not a Christmas Carol, you cheeky monkeys."
" You're not Father Christmas neither", shouted back the soprano as the youths retreated down the alley. " I'll be seeing your dad later tonight; I'll tell him what you're up to." Shouted Blamire. The soprano shouted back," It was mi dad that taught us it. Na na, na, na na" "Put that light out" shouted the Warden up at the top of the alley. Blamire came back inside and closed the door and blackout. "Sorry Sid, I'll be getting you into trouble." " It's that Greengrocer, Hodges, thinks he king of the night since they made him chief warden, you should see what he's charging for sprouts this year." brusked Sid "Half past four! Is your clock right Sid, I better be going" exclaimed Blamire. " Ok I'll see you up at the concert later" replied Sid. As Blamire slipped out of the door Sid quickly adjusted the black out and Blamire marched up the alley. Hunching his shoulders in his overcoat as the frost and darkness had come down early tonight. He began to wonder what those two had been up to. They had gone up to Shibden to help Compo's mate sort out a ferret for the local show. He lived at the back of the Windmill pub, a Webster's house so chances are that's where they would end up. Blamire wanted to call at the Tailors to inquire about a new suit. He thought he would treat himself but when he arrived at the Tailors, it was closed for the duration due to the internment policy. The shop keeper next door told Blamire that they had been sent to the Isle of Man last year, there was hell on about it in Parliament. ‘Peace in our time’ Blamire thought to himself, ‘who’s going to make up the pieces if they keep arresting the tailors’.
Blamire climbed the steps up to the Chapels front door. It was open and a lady of small proportions was handing out Hymn sheets for tonight's carol concert. " Bless you " she uttered as Blamire lifted his hat to acknowledge her. He proceeded into the inner sanctum his eyes glancing left and right to find his cohorts attending this evening's seasonal extravaganza. His trained eye for such occasions only looked for a green woolly hat and there it was, fourth row down, right opposite the kitchen entrance. " Shove up" insisted Blamire as he approached the row. "I DO hope you're not worse for wear this evening. I know what your like if you are let off your leash. Bob would have to be ready with an army of Tetley Bitter Men to keep pace with you." interrogated Blamire. A sedate Compo simply raise him a victory sign and but his hand back in his pocket." Is he in a STUPOR! senseless in drink, he doesn't look glazed." crowed Blamire, trying to look at Compo straight in the face. " Relax sit down, let me explain," chirped Cleggy. " We trailed up to Shibden and sorted some ferrets out with his mate Jess. After that we thought, just time for a nice pint and a pie. The Windmill was open, we entered and ordered our drinks. Well, you know Harry North, he doesn't mix his words. Like a cold wind from Queensbury Mountain, he raised his voice and shouted," "What the chuffing 'ell are you doing up here, I hope you don't think yer getting a drink. You do realise there's a war on, I have only one barrel of mild left to last until God knows when and if those farmers up on the tops come down here and there's no ale it'll be me that cops it. I am not risking my neck for him who drinks like there's no tomorrow, so hop it."" I did reply" sulked Cleggy," I said, I suppose a tiny shandy is out of the question then, well that broke the camel's back because he came back at me with such an enthusiastic fanatical verbosity, stopping short of summoning the secret police. It got his message home as we skulked backwards out of the door and legged it to the bus stop."" It's started already? Rationing, I only read the pamphlet this afternoon," exclaimed Blamire." What! Bloody rationing? it was bad enough last time we were here," cursed Wally, "Cheese! you couldn't get it for love or money, and I worked on the railway." he continued." Ssssh" whispered Blamire, " let's talk about it later we don't want panic." he continued, "What's the supper tonight?" he said looking at Cleggy." Cheese on Toast," laughed Clegg. " Oooo, my favourite, toasted cheese supper and Mackeson." drawled Compo squirming in his seat. The concert started and proceeded without any hitch; the youths were in the choir, but they sang the correct words. Blamire did listen attentively, glaring at the soprano when he caught his gaze. Sid had been drafted to kitchen duties with Nora and Ivy. There was no Mackeson's but plenty of tea. Nora said harshly to Wally," I suppose you'll be going to the White Horse after then? think on, behave yourself." Wally looked up timidly saying " Just one, I'll just have one, for, for cordiality." " Think on, stay off the cordial, you don't need anything medicinal you've been regular all week," asserted Nora.
The White Horse was full this evening, many of the concert go'ers had come in for a drink. Sid had been excused by the kitchen police if he didn't start any funny business when he got home. Sid levitated a comment about the beer," this is a good pint of Websters tonight, the barmaid said they might have to weaken it once rationing kicks in." Compo quipped laughing " Sid, if you don't leave that barmaid alone Ivy will be kicking you into next week." " I was only being friendly" squirmed Sid. He lit his pipe, leaning forward he whispered, " her brothers a Spiv, he can get you anything, she says."" Messing around there! will get you, locked up." retorted Blamire. They discussed the oncoming rationing situation. It revolved around how the beer and tobacco could possibly be supplemented. In their recollection's this seemed to a major problem for them the first time around. Compo laughed,” he ‘ee I remember this bird in the Naafi, her husband must have been a terrible driver, ‘cos stuff was always falling of the back of his lorry, she would swap us packets of fags for toilet rolls if we purloined them from the barracks.” Clegg replied in a serious tone, “Did you get the newspaper delivered daily to your hut then.” “We did Norm, that lad went on to own a string of shops. Mac Kenley, or something, was his name, I know he was Scottish anyhow,” replied Compo. “W.H. Something, I don’t remember than chain of shops,” quipped Blamire. Three pints a piece later, Blamire contemplated with a glazed expression and suddenly exclaimed with an enthusiastic approbation,” home brew, can’t we concoct our own elixir, let's say, for medical purposes?” “I think we need to keep that one quiet Blamire, or the revenue man will be knocking at your door, with a suggestion of you holidaying with Al Capone," warned Cleggy. “It's legal, only that you have to register to pay duty, which sort of takes the edge of it, but one consolation is that the wives usually organise the yeast train, I won’t mind the job of collecting the leaven,” intervened a sparkly eyed Sid. “What time does that get in then,” inquired Compo, as Wally drawled,” It's one of those London Trains, every Tuesday from Kings Cross,” desirously laughing as his cordial negotiated the conversation. “Well maybe we will have to put brewing on the back burner for now until we see what ingredients are available, although there are plenty of carrots about, we could transverse into wine making,” remarked Blamire. Compo lit a cig, looked at Blamire and said," carrots help you to see in the dark, don’t they?” That’s correct, but we don’t want to be looking at your attire all night, do we?” replied Blamire. “No listen! listen, if carrots help you see in the dark, why does carrot wine make you blind drunk?” laughed Compo throwing himself back into his seat. “Well, that’s all folks! come on before the queue starts at the fish shop.” interjected Cleggy jumping up out of his chair, to calls for him to,” hang on we haven't supped up yet” from the remaining Holmfirth Bootlegging Gang, clambering to their feet to chase after him.
They all stood quietly in the queue as it snaked its way to the counter. Compo rested his chin on the countertop. It was stainless steel, with a salt and vinegar pot positioned for application. Suddenly Compo yelled,” flaming Nora that’s hot,” as he burnt his chin on the top. Fred the fish fryer looked at Compo and said,” how many times have I told you about that?” “Oh, I don’t know, hundreds?” winced Compo, he continued in a serious tone, "Hey Fred, do you know why they never cook octopuses in fish shops?” “We are in Holmfirth you know, it's not Bridlington, we don’t do exotic,” grunted Fred “Nothing to do with exotic, it's because they keep reaching out of the fryer and turning the gas off,” laughed Compo squirming and burning his chin on the top again. “Serves you right, what time do you have to have him back?" said Fred looking across at the other gang members. Sid piped up,” you know what he’s like, we tried to get him into Military Intelligence, to send him over to disrupt Hitler, you know, like a secret weapon to confuse and bewilder his High Command, put the mockers on an invasion, but they refused to accept him as they didn’t have a scruffy enough uniform to lend him,”” Not only that his passport had run out,” chirped Cleggy, “To cap it all they couldn’t find his intelligence,” added Blamire. “That’s true, I must have misplaced it” sighed Compo. “I offered my services, but they said I wasn’t tall enough, I even pleaded with them for Nora’s sake,” drawled Wally. “Come on you lot get your chips and get yourselves tucked up in bed for the sake of everyone's sanity and safety.” pleaded Fred. They wished him a good night and left him cursing the fat that had just spat at him.
The next morning, down in Piece Hall Yard, Blamire climbed the steps up to the new head office. At the top of the stairs, he stood and looked along the wood panelled corridor for the door. The third door along had an official looking brass plate, ‘Department of Emoluments for Specters and Phantoms of substantial existence’ underneath it someone had drawing pinned a white card stating, ‘Apparitions please use the next door along’. He twirled his moustache, adjusted his hat and went through the brass plated door. He sensed it was a long wide massive room, similar to the dole office down Nelson Street. Mist swirled as a matter of privacy from any interlopers not related to the nirvana and blessedness of Blamires world. He could hear what sounded like, someone stamping postal orders. There was that smell again, that odour of sanctity he smells up at his pigeonhole. There was a chime, he looked forward and his name was lit up on a window which had appeared. A voice demanded, “Yes! Yes! Is that Blamire? Blamire, Cyril, with associates? come on man, we’ve thousands to get through today.” “Sorry your eminence, I mean illustriousness,” blundered Blamire, tipping his hat as he approached the window. There was a short balding man, horn-rimmed glasses, shaving brush moustache under his nose, clad in a black morning coat, with starched collar and black tie. Next to him stood a celestial figure with no apparent features or distinguishable form, but it was possible to see it was responsible for the stamping sound. There was a pile of envelopes, with three set aside. “Now Mr. Blamire here are your allotted emoluments for this coming fortnight, it’s two weeks because we’ve had a busy Advent, we have not caught up from Michaelmas and this move to Piece Hall has thrown up some complications, not to mention there’s a war on. Now I understand one of your associates is a rather scruffy individual. Is that correct?” Blamire replied sheepishly “Yes, the tatty one, a Mr Simmonite, no relation of course, they say it’s a medieval name you know. I don’t know about medieval; he can be a right,” “Mr Blamire, I’m a busy man,” demanded the official cutting Blamire off mid-sentence. The official continued calling out,” cherub first class! have you got that other envelope? the one with the social security payment?” The cherub pointed to a blue envelope on the official's counter. “Ah! thank you” said the official, he continued to a gaped Blamire,” In this sealed envelope there is a ten shilling and sixpence postal order, it has to be used to purchase a good pair of trousers for Mr. Simmonite, is that understood?” “Yes,” stuttered Blamire, shaking his head. The official continued,” there is also an extra Pound for each of you this year, as a reward and bonus for your escapade last Christmas. The people upstairs were very impressed, but they did not have to deal with all the extra paperwork you caused. However, I ‘am a very busy man and I must get on. Good day to you Mr. Blamire,” The window hatch closed and Blamire still stunned from the issuing of the social security payment, managed to turn around and make his way out and back down the stairs. Outside he lit a player and said to himself, “I don’t believe it, National Assistance is a religion.”
Walking along Huddersfield Road Blamire could see Wally struggling along with a basket of pigeons. As they approached each other Wally was first to speak, “Ha, do Cyril, I’ve got a bit of a head this morning, Nora clattered me when I got in. There was hell to pay. Cursing me ‘cos I knew we were moving to the new house this after’” drawled Wally in his usual unperturbed manner. Blamire smiled and said jovially, “Hair of the dog is it,” “I’d love a whippet, but you know what she’s like, thinks I would make more of a fuss of that than her, I mean I don’t even make a fuss of her now,” sighed Wally. He continued effortlessly, “the vans coming at two, we haven’t got a lot and what we’ve got is not much cop really, but she’s happy as long as she’s got some where to put her hats. It’s the mill house at Harris’s Twill factory, Nora got it with her new job. She’ll be charring for them in lieu of rent. It’s a couple of hours a day, but there’s a big allotment outback, some hen coups and a loft for mi birds. I have to look after the gatehouse, checking deliveries in and out. Its Four Pound a week so it’ll pay for corn and that.” finished an exuberant Wally. “So where are you going now with that lot?” asked Blamire. “I’m nipping up to Penistone Market to see if I can get a dozen chickens and a couple of rabbits, I’ll sell these pigeons, they should make good money. I love a boiled egg of a morning, what with rationing on the cards I want to make sure I’ve got a supply, ‘sides, I can get a corn allowance,” winked Wally. “Allowance, what do you mean Wal?” queried Blamire. “I can get feed for mi chickens, or perhaps some brewing,” Wally winked again. “Ah, I'm with you,” acknowledged Blamire, touching his nose as he winked back. The Penistone bus arrived at the stop and as Wally clambered on to the bus, he turned and shouted to Blamire, “come round tonight, she’s having a housewarming, it’s certainly cold enough, Sid and Ivy will be there, so bring Compo and Clegg.” “Will do!” shouted back Blamire waving as the bus started off. Blamire made his way to Sid’s Palace, he was getting a bit parched, and he could just about risk a cup of Sid’s over steeped Camellia sinensis.
Blamire opened the door into the café, the clientele was sparse, his co-conspirators had not arrived yet. He stood at the counter, greeted Ivy who came out of the kitchen, “good day madam, may I have a cup of that delicious and most widely consumed drink in the world, other than plain water that is, and a bun of some stickiness.” “We've got tea and a bun, what we haven’t got is time for individuals who read something in the Yorkshire Evening Post, then come out to play, stating satirical comments at unsuspecting proprietors trying to make a living, three ha’ pence for the tea, penny for the bun, price increase, there’s a war on,” scowled Ivy. Blamire offered a whimpering expression, paid his money and with a silent apology, retreated honourable to sit at his usual table. Seconds later the door abruptly swung open as Compo hurled through, like that medieval social phenomenon, a St. Vitus dance patron, twisting and skipping whistling through his teeth, throwing himself into to his seat at the table. Clegg came in after him, his eyes were watered with laughter. He too threw himself down on a seat. Both Ivy and Blamire were captivated by what had occurred as Compo and Clegg sat there laughing. “Hey up! this is a respectable establishment, if you're in drink you can leave right now, you'll be bringing loose women in next, come on out of it, "bellowed Ivy. “No, no, let me explain, "declared a now more sedate Cleggy, “you see, we were coming passed Harris’s and some of the lasses were changing shifts, Victor Sylvester here ‘shouted can you lot jive then?’ and one big lass said, ‘can you do the Shorthouse shuffle?’ The gauntlet was thrown, they came into a hold, right there on the cobbles, three of the other lasses started to sing,’ In the Mood,’ off they went, he had all the right moves, stepped in time, wiggled their assets, under arm twists, hops, knee skips, then came the show piece. He was going to catch her and throw her between his legs, over each shoulder and do the splits. Well, they faced each other, she stood there, hands on her hips twitching to the song, he stood opposite, all smiles and bravado, he summoned her, she charged at him like a wild virago, he poised ready to catch her. Amazingly he caught her as she launched herself at him, but as he moved to swing her through his legs, he put his foot on someone's last banana skin and they both careered botanically into a dustbin midden, where they were, soon covered in recyclable waste of the compost type. The big lass who had just washed her hair and donned a clean pinny lifted herself up and looked at her friends who were all stood in silence, and she said,’ Betty, Betty, if my lipstick is smudged, I ‘m gonna give him what for.’ Her mates shouted 'Yes! Alice, it is' She sort of growled, not unlike one of those Hunsworth pork pies past it’s sell by date, she picked up a full dustbin of what was probably for the swill man and chased him down the cobbles. Eventually she threw it at him, but it was deflected by Sam Crowthers coal cart. Victor here, made his getaway all Charlie Chaplin like, up a ginnel in Alma Street. When I caught up to him outside, he was still tripping the light fantastic, he was still in mood, but I see now he’s gone into a more moonlight serenade mode.” At that moment Sid came in through the door,” sorry I’m late love, I called at Hunsworth’s for some more pies, those others were a bit near.” “You flamin’ idiot get in that kitchen,” squawked Ivy at Sid as he dashed for cover before the second tray barrage ascended on him. A few minutes later Sid came out of the kitchen rubbing his head. Compo piped up, “there’s one thing wrong about this war Sid, instead of giving us a gas mask each, us men should’ve had a tin hat because I don’t see any end to these tray salvos.” “Aye you’re right there Compo, she tells me there’s been a spate of flying dustbins up Alma Street, teas all round then?” “He’s paying, any buns left?” asked Compo as he pointed to Blamire. “As anybody had any thoughts on this brewing lark?” replied Blamire handing around the emoluments. “I think Wally might have something up his sleeve,” he continued. “What, pigeon droppings?” slurped Compo putting his cup back down. “You will see that we’ve got a bit extra this week, perhaps a little investment in some brewing equipment and ingredients might be a wise move,” suggested Blamire. “Investment?” cringed Cleggy, “you mean spend money on brewing experiments, illegal or otherwise, I don’t think my sensory nerve portfolio could stand the peripheral porridge, "winced Cleggy. “Let's put ten shilling in each, with Wally, that ‘ll be two pound ten, surely, we can get something going with that,” enthused Sid. “I’m game for anything, but it won’t mean I have to put my back out, you know it’s prone to wear and tear,” demanded Compo. "Speaking of wear and tear, there’s a special payment for a certain individual under strict instructions from the Church of National Assistance, to cash a postal order, to purchase a new pair of trousers for Christmas. It is not for ciggies or for a bookie's runner to interfere with your apparel, which according to the gospel of social security must be worn on Christmas Day,” domineered Blamire, handing over the blue envelope to Compo. “You see, all those times you turned up in the congregation have paid off,” laughed Cleggy. “It's true Norm, I was devoted to that office, they were good to me, they kept the wolf from the door, but the telly man always got through,” sighed Compo. “We’ve been invited to Wally’s housewarming tonight so let's see what he has planned,” Said, Blamire putting his cig out in the ashtray.
That evening as they walked towards Harris’s, Compo had one eye on patrol looking for those lasses, especially the big one, he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a stray dustbin. It was getting dark, Blamire offered the cigarettes around,” come on, better have this before the blackout starts, or else that Hodges bloke will be down on us like a ton of bricks, Sid says the price of his sprouts are outrageous this year, imagine, profiteering from a brassica, I know they are nutritious, but that doesn’t mean it’s for the nutrification of his pocket,” proclaimed Blamire. “I think it’s just a load of wind aimed at an unsuspecting electorate, a zephyr, huffing and puffing to extinguish the candlepower of luminous intensity that should happen to irritate his eye,” laughed Clegg as he offered a lit match. Compo replied,” he was like that at school, when he was prefect for a week, he would charge you a penny if he caught you smoking behind the cycle shed, if you didn’t pay up, he would report you to old lump head. I can still feel the tingling from that cane.” “Needless to say, you tried to dodge the behind bike shed tax, nothing changes does it,” quipped Blamire. “Let's face it Blamire, he didn’t have a bicycle, or a decent pair of trouser pockets to keep any tax in, and the cigarettes were his mam’s.” said a gleaming Cleggy.
Nora checking that blackouts were up, turned on the kitchen light,” come through Ivy, Walter! Get Sidney a sherry.” “I'd think he would prefer a beer, come on in Sid, sit yourself by the fire,” insisted Wally manoeuvring Sid to a fireside chair, then reached into the sideboard for a bottle of beer and a couple of glasses. “We want a sherry, I 'am sure you can manage that,” instructed Nora from the kitchen. “Yes dear,” replied Wally, rolling his eyes to a silent curse. Sid looked on with a perplexed smile saying, "it always helps that little curse, takes the sting out of the indignation that we know is going to be levelled upon us throughout this evening,” “you’re right there Sid, it’s a cross, a cross we have to bear,” drawled Wally. Meanwhile in the kitchen, Nora said to Ivy, “thought I would try a victory roll tonight, what do you think?” she turned her forehead to face Ivy. “Looks like it might have run into some turbulence, sit there and let me titivate it a bit, I think it needs a bit less acrobatic and some more roll,” said Ivy as they both giggled, for at that moment they were back in their yesteryear. Hairdo complete, Nora and Ivy plated out some potted beef sandwiches, accompanied by a date and walnut cake. Ivy prepared the teapot whilst Nora laid out the best china. There was a knock at the door, Compo and company had arrived. “Come in lads, come through, Sid's already here,” said wally as he greeted them. They all made their convivial greetings as Wally directed them to some seating. He told Compo to get some beer and glasses out of the sideboard for themselves, then come and join them. “They're not quite ready for us yet in the kitchen, but that could be a blessing,” drawled Wally. They all laughed and consumed their beer. Sid spoke in a low secretive manner," Wally's in with us for the brewing lark, but will chat later, after tea,” They were summoned into the kitchen. They made their way in, Compo being first. On seeing Nora, he started to sing, “come fly with me, come fly with me,” Nora cut him short,” you can pack that in." Compo retaliated,” if I were a Spitfire Ace, I’d take you and your victory roll up there into the atmosphere, above the clouds, but you’d have to promise me that you wouldn't bring that yard brush, ‘cos it might slip into my propellor, then where would we be, but you could have me parachute. Then when you’ve landed, you’d have all that material to play with.” Blamire interceded,” sit down Ace, it’ll be too cold for you up there in those trousers.” “Will Biggles pass me the cruet please?” chirped Cleggy. Ivy laughed, “It’ll be the day if we ever see him wearing Brill cream, dressed all smart, but he’s always one of the queue when there’s mischief going on.” “Chocs away” giggled Sid as he took an éclair off the cake stand. “I’ve got a jelly setting on the back step, it should be ready now, I’ll go fetch it in,” gushed Nora. She bent down to pick up the dish which she had covered with a tea towel earlier and as she stood up; she saw a van come out of the mill yard. She looked to see whose it was, but the darkness obscured the colour and any identification. Once back in the kitchen she mentioned it to Wally. “It’s probably those Jessop lasses, they are looking after the boilers on the night shift, Gerrald will have dropped them off when he came down for the canteen swill for his pigs. They're big girls, you don’t want to be buying too much ale for those two on a Saturday night, the compromisations they’ve caused down at the Butchers Arms is unbelievable,” “How do you know,” scowled Nora. “He told me,” Squirmed Wally pointing at Compo. “Thats true Nora, even big Malcom avoids them” replied Compo, winking at Wally. Nora looked at Wally threateningly, “Aye! Well, they’ve not met me, shift yer feet and put some coal on the fire, then we can sit.” “Yes, my love" sighed Wally. They all moved into the sitting room where Wally along with Compo serviced them all with drinks. It wasn’t long before the conversation came around to Wally’s hen hut. He suggested that they might want to see the new hens he had bought, and without any hesitation they jumped up, put on their overcoats, topped up the ladies with more drink then followed Wally up to the hen hut. It was warm and cosey in the hen coup. “Are we going to decide a plan for this brewing lark then?” asked Blamire. “Listen” dictated Wally. “I want some more ale, Compo! Open that old tall boy.” Compo turned and released the latch on the double doors and opened them, an elated “hey! look at this, it's full of bottles of ale” said a gleeful Compo, passing over a bottle to Blamire. “Come on Cyril, frame yourself, there’s glasses in the crate yonder, pass ‘em round. Don’t be stingy with it, there’s plenty more.” ordered Wally. “How! What the, where “gasped Blamire. Sid’s face in merriment looked at Wally and in a blithesome trance said,” Wally you’ve got your own convivial retreat, a working man's paradise, even a dartboard to while away those rainy afternoons, a Dominoe sanctuary primed for endless games of fives and three’s.” He took a drink of his brew, whilst his eyes beamed around taking in the essence of this paradise, he then remarked” you would never have to call time, perfect.” “Have you started brewing then Wally?” asked Compo. “Ney, I donate to the Vicars church roof fund” laughed Wally, winking. “Church roof fund?” inquired Blamire. “Yes, I donate half a crown and get a crate of Ale, twelve-pint bottles.” enthused Wally. “The Vicar says it’s a reward for my kindness. I supply him with some corn when I get it. He uses it in his ecumenical recipes, for the bishops to fortify their pastoral care. I’m sure he will be accepting donations,” winked Wally. “I suppose it’s one way of bringing glad tidings and great joy to all mankind, but I’m not sitting on the ground, pass me that tea chest. When do we pay our two and six?” cheered Cleggy. “Let's pay subs weekly and I’ll keep the tall boy topped up,” suggested Wally. “I’ll drink to that,” said a squiffy Blamire. They all faced the tall boy, raised their glasses and toasted in unison, “The Tall Boy.”
The next morning Sid fidgeted to and fro between the counter and window, anticipating the arrival of Blamire. The doorbell chimed as Blamire entered. “Where ‘ve you been,” quizzed Sid, his eyes throwing a stare to Wally who was sat with his head in his hands, murmuring into his tea. “What's up,” gasped Blamire. “He’s been sat there for an hour, just murmuring, with the occasional I’m done for, she’ll flaming pulverise me.” informed Sid. “Give us a tea,” replied Blamire, making his way over to sit with Wally. “What's up lad?” enquired Blamire as he sugared his cup of tea. Wally looked up with worry in his eyes, anxiously he spurted, “it most have been that van last night, they’ve stolen a whole piece of grey flannel, those bloody Scouse Spivs. Nora will kill me when she finds out, I’ll be getting the sack that’s for sure. We’ll have to give up the house and everything.” Blamire consoled him and said, “how do you know it’s been stolen?” “Nobody knows yet, I’ve had a docket to let it out of the yard at five o’clock tonight when the burler and menders ‘s van comes for it. I went to the loading bay to make sure everything was in order, and it had disappeared. The Jessop lasses said that they thought it was just a normal pick up, they watched the men load it up into their van, Edna, the oldest reckoned one looked like Clarke Gable. She’d seen him before coming out of Antonio’s side door. Vera her sister said the other one, a Scouser, drinks in the Butchers Arms at lunchtimes. She’d seen them coming out the back of the interned tailors, Blomberg's, and they park their van up there.” “Is it expensive stuff this flannel?” asked Blamire. Wally replied, “Harris’s keep one loom for domestic pieces, the rest are running khaki, this grey flannel was for Saville Row, destined for the civil service.” “Those backroom boys, they get all the perks,” said Sid who had come over to the table,” hey up, Compo and Cleggy are here,” he continued.” I’ll get some more teas.” Blamire explained the situation to them.
“I see it like this, if they took it last night it may still be in the shop, they will be looking for a tailor to make up to order. We’ve got until five tonight to get the piece back. We need to check the shop,” instructed Compo. “Blimey” squawked Blamire. “You must admit, it’s his area of expertise” chuckled Cleggy. “I know I have had a few dalliances, but I think we need these Jessop lasses to help us out,” said Sid bashfully. He continued, “they could lure these blokes into the Butchers Arms, keep them busy, restrain them if required, while we shift the piece using my van. What do you think?” “I’ll go have a chat with Edna and Vera and see if they’ll help us,” said an elated Wally. Cleggy said he would go to the shop and see if the piece was still there, and they would all meet up back at the café in one hour.
Cleggy returned to the Cafe, leaning his bicycle against the wall he saw that his cohorts had returned. He opened the door and peered around the door. He immediately started to chuckle as he spoke. “I thought I was in Bridlington for a moment, somewhere between the Harbour Lights Pub and the Jolly Arcade.” Edna and Vera had come back with Wally, they had painted their lips bright Betty Hutton Red, donned nylons, and high fashioned coats with hats. Clutching matching handbags, they turned and smiled at Cleggy. He quickly tipped his cap and manoeuvred shyly towards Sid’s counter. Still chuckling he responded with “With all this glamour and this laughing policeman here, you can understand why sailors go a drift.” “Laughing policeman! You must be joking; he’s done nothing but moan about how much he had to pay old constable Arbuckle to rent his redundant uniform. Dressed like that you’d think his pockets would be full of money from people asking him to laugh or at least getting the pleasure of laughing at him.” whined Sid. Chipping in Compo retorted “I had to give him all my new trouser money, I’ve been robbed!” “You should have called a policeman! and by the way, pull your new trousers over those civilian's wellies, you’ll give the game away if those Spivs look at your feet.” coughed Blamire lighting up a Player. “The piece is still in the tailor's workshop. The lock is broken off. What's the plan gents?” Asked Clegg. Almost ecstatic Sid reaching his euphoric high declared “I’ll run the lasses up to the Butchers arms in my van, we will wait for the Spivs to come for lunch, then these two lovely lasses will entice them into the pub. Then I back the van up to the tailor’s workshop door where Blamire and Cleggy will load the piece into my van, and away we go to Harris's. Wally will open the gate to let us in.” “I being an officer of the law, Constable Simmonite, will patrol the beat right outside the tailor’s workshop to deter any Spivs or any unsavoury characters from disrupting proceedings m’ lud.” laughed a swaggering Compo.
Sid drove the van onto the Butchers arms carpark, he turned and smiled at the Jessop’s. “Ok girls make your way to the doorway and watch for those Spivs, its opening time.” The girls approached the pub door and looked down the street. Constable Simmonite was patrolling nonchalantly in front of the workshop door. He occasionally stopped and bent his knees before turning round and walking back towards the pub. He repeated this over and over for a good ten minutes. At that point he actually saw the Spivs approaching from Antonio’s. He signalled the Jessop’s who then walked into the street. The Jessop’s stopped to talk to the Spivs and charmed them into the pub to finalise details about doing some tailoring work. They had heard that they were looking for seamstresses looking for some essential war work.
Sid started up his van, looked over his shoulder and said “here we go lads, ready?” “Yup” gulped Cleggy as the van screeched off the carpark and up towards the workshop. Constable Simmonite, who by now had totally immersed himself into this new role, defiantly stood facing Sid’s van as it sped up the street, gesticulating the dreaded policeman's halt signal. Sid slammed on the brakes, throwing Blamire and Cleggy in a tumble, onto the front seat. The Constable approached the driver's window signalling Sid to wind it down. “Tha was going a bit too fast there me old lad, have you got your licence handy.” Said a stern-faced Constable. The occupants of the van all wide eyed and shocked at this point looked at each other summoning a unanimous cry of “The mans a FOOL, will somebody accompany him to the station, and let us out.” Compo back in reality ran to the back of the van and opened the doors,” Come on you lot stop messing about we’ve got a job to do here.” he chuckled. Blamire screamed, “that’s it, I’m cutting his tobacco ration right off.” “You see what happens when you become a police state, before you know it your subjected to all manners of hostility, my back will never be the same again, and to cap it all there’s a load of flannel to contend with.” winced Cleggy. “Come on, we don’t know how long those lasses can keep the Spivs occupied.” intervened Sid. All four of them ran into the workshop and with two at each end of the piece they lifted it and carried it to the van and slid into the back. Blamire and Cleggy climbed on top of it and Sid shut the back doors. “I’ll go stop the traffic” said Compo slipping back into his fantasy. “No! You won’t, you’ll get in the front with me and give us a police escort,” flapped Sid. He started the van, accelerated away back to Harris’s Twill Factory. Wally was pacing up and down at the loading gate waiting to back them in. “Come on lads, well done, we’ve got an hour to spare. What a relief,” he sighed. Blamire spoke with some urgence, “look lads we’ve got to get him out of that uniform before he starts taking all our names and addresses, he’s getting his note book out.” “He can get changed in the warehouse,” said Wally. “I’m beginning to think that uniform is more lethal than his wellies, I mean it's totally against his character, and up bringing, it goes against everything his family stand for, what ever would they think.” pleaded Blamire. “Maybe it's some psychological reaction to right and wrong, subdued by the poaching fraternity,” inquired Cleggy. At that moment Compo reappeared dressed in his old familiars, sniggering he chuckled,” Do you know Norm? I don't want anything to do with the law ever again, it must be hard work remembering all those regulations, and it don’t half make me head hurt; besides I would have to stop you all going to the Tall Boy for a drink, come on let's go.” Wally insistingly said,” go on lads you’ve earned it, I can’t leave here I better wait for the Burlers and Menders van, I don’t want any more mishaps, I’ll come up after.” Just as they pulled out of the gate in Sid’s van the Jessop lasses were coming into work. They were clad in their boiler suits, still sporting the Betty Hutton, which caused Sid to stop and wind down the window. “How did you go on with them Spivs then” shouted Sid across to the passenger window. Compo who was sat next to the window winked at Cleggy. “Our dad and mi four brothers came in and took the Spivs up see the pigs, I think he told them they liked Lancastrian swill and that they would have it the next time he saw their faces in Yorkshire,” smiled Edna. “Is Wally alright,” asked Vera. “Aye he’s fine, all is well,” laughed Sid. “Eh up! Compo, we hear you can cut a rug, why don’t you come to the Christmas Eve Dance in Harris’s Canteen. It's not fancy dress so no need for that policeman's unform.” laughed Edna. “You're on lass I’ll wear my Zoot Suit.” laughed Compo. “ZOOT SUIT” they all exclaimed, as the van began to drive off.
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