The Brampton Bugle

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

I agree with you Fr.Grumptious, and when you say British pork pies, I presume you mean Scrotters, for they are the best, even though the factory has since moved to Uzbekistan on account of subsidence. Young Scrotter the new owner, with an eye for a shilling, has sold the whole shebang to a London property developer and the entire work force including the chief recipe blender Sidney Gristle, have been made redundant; Sidney told me this last night over a tearful pint in the Star.
“I started on the factory floor straight from school,” he said proudly, “until I was eight, then I was allowed up onto the benches.” He sighed mournfully then added, “my dad, grandfather and great grandfather also worked there, as did my aunt Dotty.”
“Dotty?” I enquired, trying hard to be interested.
“Yes, she was the famous one in our family, she once chopped off two fingers while mixing the pie filler, but like the trooper she was…”
“Storm trooper?” I interrupted mischievously.
“No, an ex windmill girl and once understudy to one of the Beverly sisters, the ugly one I think.”
“Oh,” I said, “so what happened; did they stop the production line and clean out everything?”
“No, she said nothing and carried on; funny thing was that everyone thought they tasted better, so the old man, Albert Scrotter Jn promoted her to chief taster.”
“Hmmm,” I replied, which is what we pretend writers put when we don’t know what to say next.
“You could say,” he added whimsically, “that since that day Aunty Dotty became a manager, the quality of Scrotters pork pies have always been at the highest standard and won prizes in every major country except France.”
“Marvellous,” I said. "So it’s all down to Gristle is it?”
He said nothing and remained tacit and mute.

Barnaby Wylde · Joined: 17 Nov 2007 Posts: 4 Location: Near a teapot.

Hmm. The French have never fully grasped the subtle beauty of a quality hand-raised pork pie. "Où sont les sabots du cheval?" they ask. "Pourquoi devrais-je manger mon amant sucrées?" Unfortunately I've no idea what they're talking about, due to our French teacher's unusually dubious teaching methods.

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

We didn’t do languages at our school, even English, so although I got the gist of the last piece, the foreign words did nothing for me. The use of such words and stuff fail to impress because I am just a simple lad from Staveley, who has grown up to be a simple chap, or in other words Mr. Mediocrity. I have written a short poem about it too, entitled-

Mr. Mediocrity.

All my life I seemed to be.
Mr. Mediocrity.
My best effort I have found, always fell on middle ground.
No gold star against my name; no mention in the role of fame.
Mr. Mediocrity.
Born without a pedigree.

Arnold Tulip · Joined: 06 Nov 2007 Posts: 9 Location: Brampton (west)

As I was in the same class as JPW, I can concur about the lack of English taught at our school. The reason was this, shortages, there was a lot of it about after the war, and proper teachers were very thin on the ground.
In those days anyone mildly suitable was brought in to fill the gaps, and for a while, we managed with only two qualified (so they said) but rather old teachers and several ex German prisoners of war who had settled in Brimington and all married local girls from Hollingwood.
Only two of them, a U-boat Captain, and the navigator off the Graf Spee could speak any English, and that was only limited. I remember them calling all the boys, Tommy, or if the mood took them, Schweinhund; so you can see we missed lots of important stuff.
There was an upside to all this though. Every boy, except the little lad who lived above the pawnbrokers shop in Staveley, left the school with the ability to sing (without taking a breath) two choruses of Deutschland uber alles underwater, plus a special awareness of all the sand bars from German Bight, up to North Utsire and across to Southeast Iceland.

admin · Posted: Tue Dec 25, 2007 5:28 pm Post subject: Bah, humbug

Seasonal grittings to all our reader.

C. Urmudgeon · Joined: 25 Jun 2007 Posts: 6

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

I got socks again for Christmas. I’m not complaining; I like socks, in fact I get a funny warm glow of inner satisfaction just by looking at them.
It’s not a kinky thing; not one of those fetishes we older men get as we get older; like liking Kylie, owning an I-pod(whatever that is) or listening to Artic Monkeys. (Whales farting and Dolphins bleeping yes, but this is overly far fetched).
My affection for socks is inexplicable, and goes way back to the dark days of wartime Britain. (You couldn’t get light bulbs for love nor money)
I was very young at the time, good at burping and being sick but hopeless at toilet control and talking, other than ‘mama’ and, ‘is my dinner ready yet’, of course.
One day, when I was out in the garden enjoying what grownups then called fresh air, I was startled (not frightened) by Heinkels circling in the sky above my pram. Just for the record, it wasn’t a new pram, or an old one, although it did have a fleeting resemblance to an elegant high strung four wheeler from the Victorian era.
It was an abandoned, ex-First World War special munitions trolley, designed to carry steel helmets down to the outside lav in case of Zeppelins. Apparently everyone had them in those days, but luckily for me this one wasn’t recycled. I overheard a kind lady telling Mum that it was quite safe now the battery was disconnected.
Anyway, getting back to those planes, I knew they weren’t ours by the funny noise the engines made and when they got directly over head I could see the black crosses on the fuselage.
‘Horrors,’ I thought to myself, and wished I’d got a larger vocabulary so I could warn someone in authority about the imminent threat; perhaps get one of those American Mustangs from over at Duxford to fly over and sort them out.
However it was too late; they destroyed the Coop in the High street and Mrs. Tolduso’s shop next door. The one that sold everything for the discerning ATS girl left in a fix after D-Day, and the sudden departure of sweet talking American GI’s, who couldn’t yet shoot straight, but could shoot a line about knowing film stars and owning a ranch back in Texas.
The devastation caused shortages, lots of it, so when my mother tried to buy a cot for me to sleep in, she was turned away in despair.
Luckily for me, mother’s friend Aunty Rita, gave her a fine set of drawers she had won at the local American airbase, playing strip pin the propeller on the B17. A fine prize in any language, made from solid imitations mahogany, cut from genuine plywood obtained from sustainable forests in a place called Utility or something similar.
My Mum being a resourceful person, and rather desperate, took out the top drawer and placed me in the centre, tucked in with some fine hosiery for company. I was soon off to sleep.

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

Whots going on then, eh? Lots of people have recently joined the hallowed halls of forum members, but none have them have anything to say.

Odie Twallitt · Joined: 09 Jan 2008 Posts: 1 Location: Comfortably seated

They say actions speak louder than words, but I can't hear them.

Arnold Tulip · Joined: 06 Nov 2007 Posts: 9 Location: Brampton (west)

I bet the 'they' you are on about don't come from Brampton.

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

Hello folks its me, back from the dead, what's been happening with the forum while I was away, oh, I see, nothing.

Ronnie Bastard · Joined: 19 Mar 2007 Posts: 6 Location: An institution

The boys from C wing rioted last week over the lack of poetry; they reckon you've gone soft. I told them you were probably only hibernating, but 'Corkscrew' McLarceny tried to bite my ear off for using big words. The inmates were even more savage. I can kiss goodbye to my discharge now, though I'd never have thought it possible. Congratulations on your resurrection from the dead - is it anything to do with Easter?

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

Thanks Ronnie, I’m glad someone appreciates my efforts, and yes,
I am a bit better now, but I’m not sure if it has anything to do with Easter, religion, or God, but I could be wrong.
Strange things happen every day, especially up Brampton. Talking of which, the other day I saw several folk sitting outside that posh cafe cross from Blakes dressed in Inuit clothes and drinking coffee from caribou lined mugs. It was snowing at the time, but it is the place to be nowadays.

admin · Posted: Wed Mar 26, 2008 2:20 am Post subject: Floccinaucinihilipilification

We Bramptonians do our best to ensure strange things happen here on a regular basis. It all helps to keep normality at bay. "What doesn't kill me makes me stranger" - that's what I say. Mind you, I get some funny looks. Perhaps it's the tutu.

Glad to have you back, anyway. We've tried to keep things exactly as they were. We'd actually heard you'd been attempting to find the North-West passage on a pogo stick - was that just a malicious rumour?

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

I have enough trouble nowadays finding Walton back lane, without going further a field. No, during my illness I never left the house, except to chase off some shiny- faced, black briefcase- carrying- door- bangers, after they told me that if I didn’t recover, death wasn’t so bad, as long as I was a vegetarian. It made me think; is there something in all this religious stuff, there’s a lot of it about.

With this in mind, I looked at the leaflets they dropped on my driveway when they were dodging the hot tar (and the teeth of my Golden Retriever). Later, in a bid to make sense of it all,( you know, life the universe and all that), I asked an old Markham’s mate of mine, who claimed to have known God personally before he got Sky television, what he thought. It was very interesting.
‘Did you know?’ he said, ‘that religion was all made up just for the working classes, so that they’d have something to do on a Sunday?
Before I could answer he added. ‘And football was only invented to take the working man’s mind off thinking about long hours, short holidays, poor conditions, low pay, un- healthy environment, etc?’
‘No,’ I answered honestly, ‘I didn’t.’
‘The religion bit worked fine until double time was invented and football was a great success to curb working class chaps of envy of them who work in offices.
‘Oh,’ I replied, in a bid to break up long dialogue.
‘Later on,’ he said, ‘Management sent undercover agents into the workforce to assess the situation. They found out that by Wednesday all talk and thoughts about football had dispersed and once again disquiet about the working man’s lot, or Communism as they call it today, began to creep in again.’
‘Really, so what did they do?’ said I.
‘At a stroke this was solved by mid week matches, which encourage all non essential thought, which I mean unrelated to the technical difficulties in earning a crust, back to important things, like whose playing centre half, now Eric’s got warts.’

(He’s quite mad you know, it’s the red lead, it gets in your system.)

Ronnie Bastard · Joined: 19 Mar 2007 Posts: 6 Location: An institution

My mate over in the psychiatric wing reckons religion is only there to stop poor folk eating rich folk, but then he thinks he's Napoleon Bonaparte. He even talks French several times a week, but no-one believes him. He's too tall really, and he's from Barrow Hill.

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

That’s a coincidence, my friend from Markham’s, remember, the one who used to know God personally, comes from Barrow Hill; he lives in Staveley, but he says the bus shelters are better there.

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

My old mate from Markham’s (the one with God) visited me today; came on the pretext of borrowing a 7 inch diameter rat- tail, hand- reamer to mend his shed.
(I’ve only got three left so I lent him the one with the ¾ square drive) What he really wanted, was to find out if I had come to any conclusions about the existence of God.
I told him that I had a visit this morning from two young trainee God ‘botherers’, but that hadn’t helped.
‘What did they want?’ he asked. ‘I thought you chased them off last time.’
‘I did, so I asked them the same question.’
‘And?’
‘One of them, the shinier of the two, told me that I had become a test.’
“What !!!’ said I, extremely shocked as indicated by the three exclamation marks. ‘You mean a test of my faith, to see if I was a believer?’
‘Nah,’ said the shiny one, dropping his holier than thou guard for a moment. ‘We use you to test us.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said I.
‘It’s like this,’ he continued. ‘You’re pretty old aren’t you?’
‘Er, well yes,’ I replied, ‘for my age.’
‘So you would remember ‘Take your pick off the tele’?’
‘Certainly, never missed a program.’
‘And the yes, no interlude?’ he added. ‘Remember that?’
‘Of course, it was difficult to last the minute without being caught out.’
‘That’s it then,’ said the up to now silent, dull one. ‘As trainees, we have to bang on your door, engage you in religious debate and last a minute without being stumped, ridiculed or bitten by your dog.’
‘Glad to be of help,’ I said, ‘call anytime.’
‘Does that mean me two?’ asked my friend.
Yes,’ said I. ‘Want some inhibisol and oil to go with that reamer?’

bonzo · Joined: 20 Feb 2007 Posts: 15 Location: Basket

My great-uncle Tiberius once bit Alec Dane on the elbow. Wore a muzzle for years, poor fellow. I don't go in for all this God stuff, personally. Let's face it, if God had meant us to believe in God, he'd have made us more gullible.
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JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

You must know somebody who knows me, cos your subject title is (nearly)the second line of my 1959 anti going to Church slogon. Well well well, as Neil Armstrong said as he looked down at Earth from the wrong side of his telescope- 'Its a small world, init.'

bonzo · Joined: 20 Feb 2007 Posts: 15 Location: Basket

It was Buzz Aldrin actually, and he actually said "Lawks an' lumme, aint it a small world what we live in, cor blimey so it is". He was actually in Mary Poppins as well, though strictly in the non-biblical sense, mind you. His father played the cor blimey in Horace Batter's Whimsical Poltroons Danceband, alongside the great Mavis Dimple. Few people actually realise that, even though it's admittedly a remarkable coincidence, considering.

Of course I know somebody who knows you - I know somebody who knows everybody. They are always watching, you cannot evade the eye of Dog. Dog is everywhere, chum.

I sent for a new brain out of the catalogue. I might well send it back though, I don't really think it's quite me, despite the excellent value for money and certificate of authenticity.
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campaign against nun baiting.
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Eric Splint · Joined: 09 Apr 2008 Posts: 1

It’s a little known fact; (although I know somebody who knows this) that Buzz Aldrin is a relation of Tinny Johnson (Brampton) and a direct descendent of Tinnitus Commodus the Roman founder of Spital Tile.

Ron Pompom · Joined: 05 Dec 2007 Posts: 12 Location: Here

They actually used that little ladder on the Apollo 11 mission. Nasa didn't have one small enough so Tinny Johnson lent them that one, on condition they brought it back in one piece. They wrapped silver paper round it of course, to prevent the space-rays from destabilizing the molecular structure of the wood, but it can be clearly seen on the film footage. Of course, most people think astronauts are bigger than they actually are, but they aren't. A sensible strategy when you think about it - not quite as stupid as they look, our colonial cousins. Well, some of them anyway.

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

Yes it’s all true about Apollo 11, David Icke told me yesterday when we both attended a meeting of Exaggerists Anonymous held at the back of the old Co op, Pipe lane Staveley.

Regarding that last comment about Americans being stupid; I hope you’re not referring to me.

Ron Pompom · Joined: 05 Dec 2007 Posts: 12 Location: Here

Not at all - I was referring to Americans in general. Racism and bigotry aren't gentlemanly qualities when reduced to a personal level. Besides, I've never once seen you use the expressions 'hot diggety', or 'diddly squat', and you never refer to Ma Doody, whoever she is.

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

Good, you shouldn’t knock Americans; remember this, if it wasn’t for our boys coming over here in 41, you lot would be all speaking cockney by now.

Ron Pompom · Joined: 05 Dec 2007 Posts: 12 Location: Here

Pah. If it wasn't for our boys going over there, you'd all be speaking Spanish.

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

You’re right again Ron, but you must admit that Omaha beach was no tea party.

Ron Pompom · Joined: 05 Dec 2007 Posts: 12 Location: Here

They knew it wasn't going to be a tea party. Europe had almost completely run out of pork pies by 1944, and the Germans had resorted to using hedgehogs. My uncle Ernest was buggered by a hedgehog at Normandy.

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

Not trying to out do you or anything Ron, but during that cold winter of 1944-45, up in the Ardennes, my Uncle Larry,( or to give him his then military title of Lieutenant Jefferson Chisum Wike of the 106th infantry div), was well and truly buggered by a tiger and then a panther. They were pinned down with murderous fire, and armed only with what they could carry, had no chance to out fight them or escape.

Luckily he, like I, am a direct descendant of William Frederick Cody, so while I am good at making bison stew, my Uncle Larry was (and still is aged 90) a crack- pot, and a chancer. He ordered his men to cause a diversion while he un-wrapped his trusty buffalo gun and checked the telescopic sights.
When he was ready his sergeant distracted the German tank drivers with offers of tickets to the Super Bowl, and my uncle Larry shot the curious tank commanders eyes out with four well- aimed rapid shots.

Ron Pompom · Joined: 05 Dec 2007 Posts: 12 Location: Here

I remember when bison used to roam the plains of Loundsley Green. It used to be known as the donkey racecourse of course, before the AGD was built and Brampton was invaded by limp southerners and paper-clip fetishists. The local donkeys were terrified of bison and as a consequence had evolved a tendency to run faster than the average donkey, thus sparing them the indignity of seaside employment. As children, we used to get sent to the allotments to acquire the requisite vegetables, and were expected to hunt, kill, and butcher a bison on the way home for the stewing-meat, although my big sister usually did that part - and not without a conspicuous amount of glee. To this day though, I have very fond memories of Mam's bison meat stews.

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

Anyway- getting back to the quandary I have with religion, this morning something rather strange happened. It was 5 o’clock Mason Dixie time, when a loud banging at the front door disturbed me from my cosmic viewing. (My, she’s a fine looking women is that Rita)

Anyway, rather annoyed, I went to see who it was. To my surprise it wasn’t any of the usual early morning callers, like Jooles Holland, wanting boogie- woogie lessons; Pan’s People, pestering as usual or Billy Beaumont, wanting to reminisce about the good old days before lifting in the line outs; it was the Pope himself, in person, dressed in his full attire .
‘Morning, your Holiness,’ I said, with a measured amount of subservience. (Zero on the grovelometer) ‘What can I do for you this fine morning?’
‘I’ve come about the test,’ he replied with humility.
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘would you like to step inside? I’ll put the kettle on.’

He stamped his Pastoral staff, hard on the front step, and then shook his head vigorously, dislodging his Episcopal Mitre in the process. ‘No,’ he said in German, and explained that he wanted to be treated like everyone else.
Okee dokee,’ I said, glancing at my watch; not for any reason other than to see how long it was before Dolly’s opened, so I could get a bacon cob.
‘Are you the head of the Catholic church?’ I added nonchalantly, giving him the easy ones first to get him into the swing of things, before I asked him why God made the dinosaurs, and persisted with them for millions of years, waiting for one of the clever ones to invent the steam engine and start the ball rolling.’
‘I must be,’ he replied, ‘unless I’m an imposter?’
‘Ummm,’ I uttered silently, thinking that he was either very clever or very stupid. Not for a moment did I think he was phony, because of the 5,000 people out on the street; the 184 cardinals on the drive and the Pope Mobile parked on my lawn.’
‘Question two,’ said I. ‘If you are the real Pope, and I don’t doubt you for a moment, when is your birthday?’
‘That’s easy,’ he answered, grinning like a cat from Cheadle Hulme, ‘it’s tomorrow, April the 13th.’
‘Correct, so you are 80 years old then, then?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’

For a second he went white, then said, ‘Bugger,’ and dashed up the street towards Walton Road, leaving the others speechless. Even at full speed the Pope Mobile didn’t catch him up until the corner of Hazel Drive.
I went inside and made a drink of tea; methinks he got hold of the wrong end of the stick with this test thingy.

Ron Pompom · Joined: 05 Dec 2007 Posts: 12 Location: Here

There are few things more annoying than cardinals on your drive, they're a dreadful nuisance - think yourself lucky the weather's still cold. Give it a couple more weeks or so and I expect we'll be over-run with archdeacons as well. I've never known the Pope refuse a cup of tea though, I think you might have been visited by an imposter. Did he have 'Heil Pope' tattooed on his knuckles? All the same, it's a pity you didn't have Alec Dane handy.

I've often wondered who taught Jools Holland. Perhaps you might teach him something else.. plastering springs to mind.

JPW · Joined: 17 Feb 2007 Posts: 49 Location: Walgrove area

You know Ron; I think you might have been right about that Pope being a bit dodgy. Not long after I saw him, skirts up to his knees, rushing towards Walton road, I switched on the tele in order to see if Norm had remembered the things I had taught him about finishing off a shaker television table with a hatchet. To my surprise, there, as a guest on Old Mankey Workshop was the Pope himself, dressed in his full attire but with a Steve and Norm autographed tool belt around his middle.

Thinking it was a mirage, a Pope fixation, or something, I switched channels, but alarmingly he was on CNN, meeting the President. With this in mind I decided to stop all religious tests immediately and concentrate on my other work.

Anyway, this morning, just after I had said goodbye to the Dagenham girl pipers (I teach them soldering and blowlamp maintenance on a Tuesday’s); loud singing at the front of the house disturbed me.
I peeped sneakily through the front window just in case it was those Spice Girls here early for their shouting lessons, but to my surprise it was him again, the Pope.
Sure enough, out on the road, thousands of people congregated, the drive was full of Cardinals, and in the middle of the lawn one J reg left hand drive Pope mobile stood gleaming.
After several minutes of loud staff banging on the door, I answered it.
‘Well I never, it’s you again.’ I said.
‘Who were you expecting?’ he replied slightly sarcastically, ‘Lulu?’
‘Not till 12,’ said I, ‘she likes to sleep late.’
‘Oh, anyway I’ve come for another test, I have been practicing.’
‘Sorry,’ said I, ‘don’t do tests anymore, how about a quick lesson in gib- head key fitting, or perhaps I could interest you in snake stamping? There’s a lot of them about this season.’
‘Err, I’d rather not being a vegetarian.’
‘Cup of tea then?’ I asked politely.
‘Okay, just this once.’
I cant say anymore at the moment cos he’s still here, asleep on the couch.’

Ron Pompom · Joined: 05 Dec 2007 Posts: 12 Location: Here

Let's face it, all Popes are a bit dodgy unless they're tree surgeons, though how fish can exist up trees is still a mystery to me. You've probably had that Pope impersonator bloke from Poolsbrook round. He does the Working Men's Club circuit - makes a fortune and the ignoramus can't even speak a word of latin. Still, everyone has to earn a living I suppose, and he always goes down well, despite the lack of mother-in-law jokes. It's interesting you should mention the crowds out on the street - I get them at night, usually in peasant costumes and brandishing flaming torches. Try spreading raw sewage outside the gate; it worked for me.