YACK

Right so this is my yack page and I do not yet know what all is going to go in here.

SO FAR….by a bit of patience in scolling down the page YOU will be the beneficiary of such valuable insights as to why there are no snakes in Ireland…why the fire brigade had to be called….learn all about Percy’s fearsome, slithery serpent cat repellent, there is a most shocking confession from a poet….read right here on Yack about my first attempt at flying out of a second floor window, and woooo the hound of heaven…..what the queen said to the Spaniard. It’s all here gentle people and much, much more. Yack will be subject to frequent updates so keep coming along….you know how you hate to miss anything good, above all I hope you are having a good day and if we can put a little pucker on your mush most happy shall we be.

© The Totton linnet. All Yack stories are now subject to copyright

 

I will tell you another time about Gemma [Gems, or Gemma-lems when I want to wee her off] she’s me best mate, even though she steals my boyfriends and is everything looks wise that I envy for she’s a blonde blue eyed doll, I hate her for that, but we go back to 1st year seniors our only mutual interests at first was that we both love nature, our friendship was sealed the day she presented me with a freshly detatched lizards tail, quite what she expected I would do with it I don’t know, but I felt deeply honoured that she had chosen to bestow such a treasure on me. But this is not about her it’s about her dad, politely put he’s a little eccentric, if you were an honest person you would say he’s batshit barmy.

 One day he climbed a ladder to see if he could fix a leaking gutter and then remembered he was terrified of heights, we don’t know how long he was up there in a state of petrification but we became alerted to the fact that there was a situation in progress by the sound of what can only be described as wailing, gentle people if you have never heard a full grown man wail in terror let me tell you it’s a most dreadful sound, I can write  this only in the sure knowledge that he will never read it because he is the dearest most lovable nitwit you’ll ever meet.

So there he was stuck up the ladder and in terrible distress, the more we shouted up encouragements and words of comfort and advice the louder his wails became, when the next door neighbour offered to climb up and walk him down he started to scream so that idea had to be abandoned and we were able to mollify him back to a whimper. Poor dear sweet man, in the end the fire brigade had to be called, they thought they were being called out to rescue a cat from a tree. The firemen set up a ladder adjacent to the one Gem’s dad was quivering on the top of and one fireman climbed up each ladder and while one held on with a strong arm to him the other so gently walked and talked him down, this part of the operation took 20 minutes and soon we had him all wrapped up in a blanket with his feet in a bowl of warm water and an Irish [very Irish] coffee in his hand. We often laugh ourselves silly over his antics but this was no such occasion nor did any of the firemen think so, such tough men as they were, they understood, and there was no possibility of any chiding from them, they explained how often they had encountered human terror and how it will reduce even the biggest and the strongest of men to small wimpering children.

However the day Gem’s dad [let's call him Percy for now]  set out to wage war upon the local cat population was a laugh. See cats as you must know are very territorial in their night-time shenanigans, but apparently they have recognized “mutual zones” which are honoured by all [your guess is as good as mine as to how such feline accommodations are arrived at] and in these zones a puss may traverse or linger and especially they may lighten their load without fear of being attacked or molested by any other local mog. And whose garden do you suppose was the chosen haven of peace? the neighbourhood loo de le Félix, of course it was Percys and he resented it greatly. Now Percy got the idea that cats were afraid of snakes so he sent us to town to buy a dozen green and yellow striped ties [you can see where we are going can't you] and our afternoon was taken up stuffing each one with toilet paper-later we had to go shopping again because Percy had taken a bathroom break and  forgot they were clear out of loo rolls-each “snake” was strategically placed in the garden. Job done we could get on to more sensible teenaged activities like seeing who blow the the biggest bubble with our chewing gum.

The next morning, the sun had barely risen, it was snake patrol, we were startled by a cry of anguished rage and ran to investigate. The fearsome serpent cat deterrer [St Nick's comprehensive school tie to those in the know] in the middle of the runner bean patch was the source of dismay, for there right on the top of his slithery head was the foulest smelling, hugest dollop of cat poo you ever saw, we howled with such hoots of laughter that for punishment we had to clear the whole garden of cat extractulations for a month. Poor Percy. …..fancy

*

My back windows look out onto the gardens of the houses that line the little road running parallel to our road, there’s a geeze out doing his garden, he must be 70 if he’s a day, stripped to the waist. He must have been astonishingly handsome in his prime for he is tall and broad shouldered and though mostly turned to flab [he has bigger titties than me] you can see that he was once muscular. His garden is beautiful, he has a large shrub [which I will look up] growing against the wall which at this time of year produces a mass of little red bell shaped flowers. Every day his wife does the hoovering she first chucks their yappity dog out into the garden so for twenty minutes or so there is this incessant yip yip yap yap, which is not at all abated or interupted by the guys intermittant yells and cussing which he does in rather a shrill voice for such a big fella, it only interwhines with the dog…..”fancy”

A word about “fancy,” when I was little I used to visit me nan and she was one of those women for who washing, as in laundry, was everyday and each day when she was hanging out her washing on the line her neighbour next door would come out for a good old yack-like what I’m doing now- and their chatter was always full of such phrases as “well I never”  or “go on wi’ yer ” or “fancy that” or just plain “fancy” 

This breed of woman is all but disappeared from England and is in need of reviving so “fancy.” 

*

WOT NO SNAKES?

It’s true folks, you can walk from one corner of the Emerald Isle to the next you’ll find no snakes in Ireland, the scientist tell us that the reason is because when snakes first evolved from lizards [I believe creation has evolved] Ireland which was then joined to Scotland which does have snakes was buried under a mass of ice, and since the thaw with the separation of scotland and Ireland they have been divided by 12 miles of ocean and snakes simply cannot swim.

Now we all know this is nonsense, we know that St Paddy during a 40 day fast was besieged by the entire slithery serpent population of Eire and taking up his holy drum he tattooed them [despite snakes being deaf] into the sea, every last one of them….put that in your test tube

“…fancy.”

So new labour is unravelling, to quote Winston Churchill “nah this may not be the end….etc” Tony Blair as time goes on will be seen as unique in British political history. He just had it, whatever “it” is, see him swoop down in his helicopter and as he reached the ground he only had to squat down to be swarmed by little children (they may have thought they were to be rewarded with lollies on sticks or something) but there it was. Nor was it only children who seem to have fallen for his charms, remember he was PM for 10 years and somebody once said a week in politics is a long time, but such diverse persons as Sinn Feins Gerry Adams and Unionist leader Ian Paisely and they simply don’t come more diverse than that, along with former Conservative leader William Hague could all be heard singing his glories from the same hymn sheet in a manner of speaking.

All this in spite of the most unpopular political decision perhaps ever, aside from Margaret Thatcher’s poll tax, ie the decision to go to war with Iraq. When he resigned he created another precedent which will never be repeated on the occasion of PMQs his final parliamentary appearance he was given a standing ovation by the whole house. Yep there was just something about Tony Blair which even his fiercest enemies could not knock down or detract from. And poor Gordon, every bit as lovable in his own way, whatever it was TB had he has not.

It is a political fact in the U.K. barring Lloyd George, that chancellors of the exchequers, even brilliant chancellors of the exchequers do not convert into successful PMs. “fancy”

By the riverside

The house that I grew up in had a river running alongside and I spent all my life in that river, in my wellie boots, with a net and a jam jar, if it moved, and if it fitted [and sometimes if it didn't] and if I could catch it,, in the jar was where it would go and hoisted up to the sunlight for closer observation before allowed to resume it’s normal if somewhat traumatised aquatic existence.

Me mum was never concerned with my safety because I had a big lab/span dog who loved me and would defend me to the death if need be, only once his courage failed when he chased a cow over a hill and moments later came running back full pelt he shot past me with an apologetic sideglance and then left me to face the 20 or so cows that suddenly appeared at the crest of the hill coming toward me at full gallop “what a stinker” he made it over the fence easily, me it was a most unholy scramble and I made it with just seconds to spare. huh dogs..”fancy”      

*

THE HOUND OF HEAVEN

I can be very stubborn about some things, the most important thing being I believe in God, I would not care if you brought every scientist and every wise phllosopher to lecture me one after the other, bringing all their detailed proof and logical conclusions in a fleet of lorries, I will close my eyes and take a deep, deep breath and listen to my heart beating and I will say “no, but I believe.” When I was about 5 years old my cousin came to stay the week-end and that meant we would have batter before bed-time, assault and batter that is because we loved to pillow fight. It must have been summer for the windows were open wide, only in the heat and excitement of flaying and walloping each other with superonduper double whammies we forgot this small detail, so when I copped a vicious swipe to the back of the knees followed up smartly with a bruising whumpledinger to the side of the head my foot went down the side of the bed and my hand reached out to steady myself on the window …shriek.

Susie's fallen out of the window

I don’t remember much about those first few seconds of pillow propelled solo aviation, I remember my cousin screaming for help “Susie,s fallen out of the window”* now here’s the bit where I believe in God and angels and stuff because someone grabbed hold of my ankles and it wasn’t my cousin, my head hit the wall with a bump as I “assumed the position” as the American cops say, the position in this case being upside down 50 feet up, to my family who had charged out into the garden to see what broken pieces they might be able to gather up, not seeing me strewn across the lawn they looked up and there I was, to them I say it looked for all the world as though I was hanging on by my toes to the window ledge, you know what me mum said don,t you, she said “don’t move” mums can be amazingly down to earth and common sensical in their advice some times.

However this time her advice was based upon a false assumption i.e that I was indeed hanging on by my toes [which assumption incidently with all the laws of gravity and aero-dynamics and stuff was totally without a scientific base] no, somebody was holding on to my ankles and whoever it was they were doing so with a too strong grip for my liking for it hurt my ankles so badly that I kicked back at it, first one leg then the other in bicycle fashion and by this strange way I managed to shin my way backwards through the window. By the time my family arrived I was in what would have been a jolly good spanking position on the window ledge……….*[my name is Susanne if you haven't discovered that already]

And you say “well where the flimming ‘eck does “the hound of heaven” come into all that?” my little luvvies you really must be patient with your  Gentledove, cos when she gets into story telling mode she remembers that there are nine planets in the solar system and on our little cosmic journeys together it will not harm to stop along the way for a little interplanetary refreshment. The hound of heaven is a completely different story happening many years after the events alluded to above.

Three years ago I was visiting friends in Teddington, Middlesex and as is the wont of young and wayward people ’twas a time of merriment and great fun with barbies and parties and other suitable entertainments, it was after one such night of shenanigans that I was faced with the prospect of walking home from Kingston upon Thames to Teddington, all funds which might have been called upon to pay for a taxi ride the four or so miles xxxx xx xxxxxx xx x xxxxxxx water and waste treatment farm at twickenham, at any rate I have never been afraid of being alone or of the dark, now between Kingston and Teddington is the famous Bushey park where ol’ Henry the eighth used to go chasing deer and by crossing Bushey diagonally I reckoned to knock at least a mile and a half off the walk and that is what I decided to do, we are at about 3.00 in the morning and not xxxxx x xxxx xxxxxx xxx, nor for that matter clear in our thinking.

I entered Bushey by the big iron gate just the other side of Kingston bridge and before me the bright moonlight was somewhat shadowed by the avenue of ancient oak trees lining the few hundred yards or so foot path, flanked on the left behind the trees was the children’s playground now of course deserted and on the right behind the trees and fenced off was the cricket club. This path led on to another wrought iron gate which was the entrance to the park proper which having entered I was well commited to completing the walk I had undertaken, the park was bathed in moonlight, nothing stirred which was encouraging, for if the deer and other animals were undisturbed it was an indication that all was as should be, as I walked on coming abreast of a small copse to the right and in the center of the Kingston end of Bushey which supposedly and probably is the site of satanist groups and witches covens [the remains of ritual animal sacrifices are periodically found in this copse despite the policing by park rangers] I was already half way through another 20 or so minutes and I would be out the other end in Teddington.

It was just then that I experienced for the very first and only time in my life what real fear is like, gentle people, if you have never experienced terror I would not wish it upon you, it is a most dreadful feeling. Nor was there any reason or explanation for it, nothing had stirred, yet suddenly an icy hand gripped my heart, I felt the hair on my head beginning to rise, suddenly I was aware of the shadows every bush and every tree cast in the moonlight. I felt a most amazing sensation at the back of my heels like an almighty itch telling me to flee. It was all so unreasonable but I felt as though somebody or something was watching me and that with evil intent as I traversed the still remaining mile or so, oh how far away now that gate seemed. I thought to myself if I flee, then whoever is watching will know that I am afraid so although I was in an agony of fear and breaking out now into a cold sweat yet I determined to walk at a normal pace, and under my breath I whimpered “Oh God, I wish I had a dog to walk with me” then something suddenly softly touched the crook of my arm, I spun around panting with fright, and causing him to splay his legs playfully, for there indeed was the huge great dane dog who had nuzzled my arm, oh the relief that came over me just like a bucket of warm water had been thrown over me I said “hello boy” and I don’t think I have ever been more glad to see anyone human or otherwise in my life, he looked at me this huge dog and if ever a dog spoke with his facial expression he did, his look said “I know you are afraid, I’ll walk with you” and he did, all the way, and hey this was a real dog there was nothing ghostly about him, he stopped at every tree to add his blessing to whoever had visited it before him, sometimes I thought he would stay behind and the fear returned but no soon he came trotting up alongside in that peculiar way that great danes do. All the way he walked beside me, and then I had a problem when I got to the gate, I couldn’t take him home with me, where was he from anyway? I looked at him, he was well groomed and looked well fed enough, bright eyes, I chucked him under the chin and said “thank you very much boy, but what shall I do with you?” And well he just plain turned around and trotted off into the night.

fancy…

 

 Pam Ayres and Richard  Digance

*

 I haven’t been writing poetry very long, just this year in fact, which is why there are not many in my blog yet, here’s a shocker for you, I don’t actually like poetry, I’ve never read any nor cared to read any much. Now in saying such a thing I don’t want to wound anybody’s feelings but I’m being honest and I think the great majority of people feelthe same way, when someone comes to them and says they’ve got a poem to read they put some kind of steel defencive wall up and they set their jaw, grit their teeth and hang a fixed smile on their face, inwardly they are calling you a rude name.

So you say “well what the blaming ‘eck are you inflicting your stuff on us for” and all I’ve got is the lamest of excuses and that is because I can, not inflict you I mean, write poetry, I just can, if you want to blame somebody blame Pam Ayres, I listened to her one time telling the most rediculous poem about her son’s bottom in the fridge door, that’s how she pictured him in her mind, one elbow on the door the other on the fridge looking wistfully at the meagre contents within, and when she saw him thus she knew it was time to go shopping. And then I heard that Richard Digance telling the most ludicrous story in a poem about Paul the crab who lived in Poole harbour, only Paul thought it was Pearl harbour, and he lived in fear that any day the Japs might come and bomb them again, it was so stupid that I nearly wet myself laughing. 

So hence the first little ditty of my own came “I am a frog” just five lines

My tiny webbed feet are frozen

this isn’t the life I’d have chosen

but I am a frog

an’ I live in a bog

so what’s the use of supposin’

 and I thought that’s not bad, and it just happened that someone on Yahoo questions asked people if they had any funny stories and stuff he could use for a children’s party so I whacked it in and it got best answer for 10 points, there you go somebody else thought it was good. There followed five more froggy ditties [I do love those soggy little things] of more and more verses so a poet was born and it’s so strange how they come along, I go weeks without even thinking about doing a poem then suddenly “kerpoof” there’s one there, it’s just a thought, a theme but you know if you pull at it a bit a poem will come.

Some of the poems are experiences [cos you know I've done seven now-serious poems that is] so I am a real pro, and they do get hits, I got a big fan on one blog, he’s some kind of present day wizened ol’ cowpoke country singer in Alabama, complete with straggly beard, he keeps begging me for more froggies, but they are just not there, the cupboard is completely bare of froggies., the poem that I have enjoyed writing most is “Rollerskate lovers” which is about a very carefree and happy time. And then there’s Anne Frank when I read that entry in her diary those words of hers swirled around in my head for days, like clothes in a tumble dryer and I knew I had a poem, the same thing happen when I saw that picture on Amanda’s page http://amandzing.wordpress.com and once again I knew I had a poem.

So there you are me little luvvies, so next time somebody comes a long with a piece of paper that they flick in order to read just think about me as you set your jaw and grit your teeth and remember, it’s not their fault, it’s like measles, they caught it off someone else, and if YOU don’t want to catch it you had better not breathe too deeply.

…..fancy 

Grumma

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grumma

I have just got to tell you about my great grand mother, Grumma, she was a hard woman her, she had to be for life was hard. She lived with her 3 sons and 2 daughters [one of whom was my Nan] in downtown Southampton near the old gas works, they were so poor that she shopped her ol’ man, my great Grandfather to the police for a crime he did not commit for the reward money, this had other benefits in that there was one less mouth to feed, and she didn’t have him underfoot all day, these were the days of widespread unemployment just after the war, “you’re no good around ‘ere without a job, you might as well be in the nick” she told him.

Grumma used to keep chickens in the back yard and rear them for the eggs and when they got too old or if they didn’t produce she would cut their heads off and they would live off of chicken for a week. One day she caught her bird and cut it’s head off but after initially collapsing, amazingly the headless bird stood up and began to chase her, Grumma shrieked with terror and fled and the chicken ran after her, if she dodged to the left the chicken followed her or to the right, whichever way that Grumma took the wretched chicken followed her as she ran, round and and round the yard screaming hysterically as she went. She managed to bolt into the outside lavatory at the bottom of the yard and locked the door. The chicken finally collapsed outside the door, but of course she didn’t know that so she didn’t dare come out, she was there for an hour until her sons [my great uncles] came home to hear her crying for help “is it still there? ….I ain’t coming out if it’s there” she wailed pitifully. They were cruel and kept her there for another hour teasing her by scratching at the door ” hey ma, he wants to come in….he’s looking for his head.” making her scream in terror.             

A SPEECH BY QUEEN ELIZABETH [the first one] ON THE OCCASION OF THE  IMMINENT ARRIVAL OF THE SPANISH ARMADA.

My loving people, who have been persuaded by some,

 that are careful for our safety,

 to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes,

 for fear of treachery. But I assure you I do not desire to live to distrust

my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear. I have always

behaved myself that under God,

I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard

in the loyal hearts and goodwill of my subjects.

And therefore I am come among you as you see

resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle,

to live or die amongst you all,

to lay down for my God and for my kingdom,

and for my people, my honour and my blood even in the dust.

I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman,

but I have the heart and stomache of a king

and of a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma

or Spain or any prince of Europe

should dare to invade the borders of my realm

to which, rather than any dishonour shall grow by me

I myself will take up arms,

I myself will be your general, judge and rewarder

of every one of your virtues in the field

I know already, for your forwardness,

you have deserved rewards and crowns

and we do assure you, in the words of a prince,

they shall be duly paid you. 

*

….fancy

*

I’d never heard a penguin whistle

until the day one fell on a thistle

his whistle was shrill

because in his bill

were the remains of his good wife’s rissole.

*

…..fancy