Part 3, Chapter 3, of RFV.

                   THREE

 

    After dinner, everyone strolled back through to the lounge. Roger told them all that he was eventually heading to New Earth but nobody seemed keen on joining him. Thropely and Stan got out their pipes. Doris got out her knitting. Sir Ashley got out his head on more whisky. Fed, the alien travelling salesman, excused himself and went up to his room to masturbate or so he said but it was probably to read a good book.

    Thropely puffed away contentedly on his pipe for a few moments then frowned. “Who’s that young lad there?” he asked, pointing his pipe at a young boy of about twelve.

    “That’s Wilf,” Doris told him. “Our son.”

    Thropely raised an eyebrow. “Wondered why he were always eatin wi us,” he remarked.

    Roger glanced out the window. It was getting dark and heavy rain was falling.

    “Nip down t’ corner shop an get us some pipe tobacco, young Wilf,” said Stan.

    Wilf’s face fell and Roger felt sorry for him. ‘That’s a bit much �" sending a young boy out in weather like this,’ he thought, glancing again at the rain.

    “But Stan,” bleated Wilf, “alien in shop always interferes wi me!”

    Roger’s mouth dropped open.

    “That’s nowt,” scoffed Thropely. “Ah can remember days when whole pit used t’ interfere wi young lads like you!”

    “That’s right, Thropely,” agreed Stan. “Young lad would come in for his first day an some o us would grab him. There he’d be, spread-eagled over coal cart wi half o backshift lined up t’ paddle him!”

    “I say, didn’t the parents complain!?” asked a shocked Roger.

    Thropely and Stan laughed. Doris cackled.

    “Aye they complained,” Thropely told him. “They used t’ come up an say they’d charge us wi interferin wi minor.”

    “’But lad’s not miner!’ we’d say,” Stan explained, “’Lad’s only apprentice miner!’”

    “That used t’ throw ’em!” said Thropely. “Then they’d laugh an see funny side o incident. See it were just light-hearted prank by workin class t’ take sting out o daily grind!”

    Roger frowned but decided against asking for an explanation.

    “Go on t’ shop then, our Wilf,” Doris said. “An get us a nice brown loaf when yer there. Hidden brass band’ll play ye there an back. Just like in old adverts on tv.”

 Grumbling, Wilf put on his cloth cap and left by the French windows. As he opened one, a brass band could be heard playing. The music stopped when he closed the window.

    “Aye them were grand days,” Thropely said and sighed. “Young lads these days don’t know they’re born.”

    “Just like foetus,” added Doris, “or still born babe. They don’t know they’re born either.”

    The others nodded knowingly. Sir Ashley nodded off.

    “Aye it’s just not same nowadays,” Stan went on. “Youngsters don’t have same disadvantages t’ look forward to.”

    “That’s right, Stan,” agreed Thropely. “Everythin’s too secure. Even at pit. There’s no cave-ins or floods like there used to be back in Grimbledyke.”

    “We had some grand accidents in them days, didn’t we, Thropely?” Stan said. “Remember time at Silicosis Colliery when whole section gave way. Twenty men trapped for days, slowly dyin o suffocation an hideous injuries.”

    “Aye, that were grand that one, Stan!” Thropely agreed. “Rescue squad worked round clock tryin t’ reach ’em then got fed up an went on massive piss-up. Lasted for weeks. No survivors.”

    “But trapped men eventually got out,” Stan reminded him.

    “That’s right,” agreed Thropely, nodding.

    The two of them puffed away contentedly on their pipes.

    “But there must have been some terrible diseases in your village when you worked down the mines,” Roger said eventually.

    Stan beamed at him. “Yer right, lad. We had some o best diseases ever known t’ man. New ones were poppin up every other week t’ stump village hospital.”

    “Aye we had some grand diseases in them days,” mused Thropely.

    They lapsed into silence awhile, each lost in their particular reminiscence of the good old days. Eventually Doris stopped knitting and glanced at Thropely and Stan, her watery eyes twinkling.

    “Bodily cancer!” she announced, grinning.

    “By that were a good one!” Thropely said enthusiastically. “Rottin in bed for months wi that ye were. Slowly fallin t’ bits. Visitor would come in t’ see yer an shake yer hand an yer whole arm would come off. Horrible stuff flowin out over bedclothes.”

    “An the smell,” Stan added. “Ye could smell it soon as ye opened front door.”

    “Aye them were good days,” said Thropely. “Lovely diseases.”

    Doris’s eyes twinkled again. “Petit Mal Epilepsy!” she announced.

    Thropely beamed at her. “Ye’ve picked a particular favourite o mine there, our Doris.”

    “Knew it, love. Your Ralph had it.”

    “Yer right. By Christ he were a character though. Used t’ see him down pit havin seizure, foamin at mouth an pissin himself. Aye he were a right laugh was our Ralph.”

    “Didn’t Ralph marry that Edna Kak from Aura Street?” Stan asked.

    “That’s right, Stan,” Doris agreed. “Folks said he married above himself since Edna were Grand Mal Epileptic. Said it would never work.”

    Roger looked puzzled.

    “Marryin above yerself was big thing in them days,” Doris told him. “It were like marrying into different religion.”

    Roger looked puzzled.

    “What happened t’ Ralph an Edna anyway?” asked Stan, scratching the stubble on Doris’s chin.

    “They used t’ go round clubs wi act,” Thropely reminded him. “They’d have a big tub o water onstage an both would get in an have seizures.”

    Stan laughed. “Now Ah remember! They were called The Magnificent Jacuzzis!”

    “Aye, that were ’em,” agreed Thropely, nodding.

    “It were sad though when Edna died,” said Doris. “It were never the same.”

    “That’s right, love. Ralph tried another act by himself. Used t’ get into wooden box wi glass door an have seizure.”

    “Called himself The Human Spin Dryer!” Stan said, remembering

    “That were it!” agreed Thropely, laughing. “Daft b*****d!”

    “Them were good days though,” said Stan.

    “They were best days o us lives,” stated Thropely.

    “Best days o everybody’s lives,” advanced Stan.

    “Best days o people’s lives that haven’t lived yet,” raised Doris.

    “Best days o Earth,” countered Thropely.

    “O galaxy Earth’s in,” ventured Stan.

    “Best days o entire Universe,” suggested Doris.

    “Best days o history o entire Universe in its entirety,” Thropely announced with an air of finality.

    ‘Thank puck!’ thought Roger.

    “That’s why it were chosen for Second Coming,” Stan said casually.

    Roger raised his eyebrows in amazement. “The Second Coming!?!” he said. “You mean the Second Coming of Jesus!?!”

    Stan nodded and puffed away on his pipe.

    Doris put down her knitting. “Ah didn’t know that, Stan,” she said. “About Second Coming. Did it really happen in them days? Nobody mentioned it in butcher’s when Ah were in for tripe.”

    “It were true, our Doris,” Thropely told her. “But it had to be kept secret. Only two or three knew about it.”

    “Disciples, like?” Doris asked.

    Thropely nodded.

    “This is silly!” Roger announced. “Are you trying to tell me that the Second Coming of Jesus happened in a dull unimportant re-created English mining village!?”

    Thropely nodded. “It were true, lad. True as Ah’m sittin here ready to let rip.” He farted.

    Doris frowned. “The Second Coming…it were never at number thirty nine, were it?” she asked.

    Thropely nodded.

    “Eunice an Tommy Grunnion?”

    Stan nodded.

    “Well well!” Doris said in amazement. “Eunice an Tommy! Makes sense when ye think about it now. Ah mean, after Nipper were born Tommy stopped bein labourer in sewage works t’ take over as Head o Foreign Office. Folks always said it were some sort o miracle.”

    “Miracle it were, love,” said Thropely.

    “So what happened to him or should it be Him?” a sceptical Roger asked.

    “Oh He got killed durin a cave-in at Bronchitis Colliery,” Thropely told him.

    Roger sniggered. “He got killed during a cave-in!?! Do you really expect me to believe that the Second Coming was brought to an immature unplanned conclusion by the totally haphazard collapse of some random boulders in an underground cavern!?”

    “Why not?” Thropely said.

    “Well if it was Him, why couldn’t He move the rocks and save Himself?”

    “Don’t be silly, lad,” said Stan. “If He’d done that He’d have given whole game away.”

    “But what was the purpose of the Second Coming if He couldn’t make His presence known?” an exasperated Roger asked.

    “Oh it were just dummy run,” Stan told him.

    “Trial, like,” added Thropely. “T’ see how things went.”

    “An if they went well, if Lad felt we was ready for revelation, He was goin t’ make His presence known eventually.”

    “It must have caused a few problems when He died prematurely then,” Roger said sarcastically.

    “Oh it did,” Doris told him. “Eunice an Tommy had just taken out new three-piece suite from Co-op. Lovely it were, sort of dark blue wi white trimmin. Anyway, whole lot had t’ go back. They couldn’t keep up wi payments after Lad left.”

    “Lodgin money He were payin came in handy,” Stan explained.

    “Ah blame it on bad grammar in pit,” Thropely said. “Ah mean how can ye expect Deity t’ announce presence t’ men who don’t have remotest conception o how t’ construct sentences? Who keep endin sentences wi prepositions an conjunctions? Who split infinitives?”

    “So your theory is that the entire Second Coming, the most important, most long-awaited, most talked about event in the history of man was postponed because of bad grammar!?” Roger asked.

    Thropely nodded.

    “Hmmm,” mused Roger. “I suppose you could be right.”

    Just then there was a quick bust of brass band music as one of the French windows opened and closed.

    “Here’s our Wilf back,” said Doris, “an he’s just in time t’ break up this reminiscin which could go on all night.”

    Wilf came in. He tossed the pipe tobacco to Stan, the brown loaf to Doris then grimaced and clutched his buttocks.

    “What happened, our Wilf?” asked Thropely, winking at Stan. “Did alien in shop interfere wi ye?”

    “Nae, our Dad,” replied Wilf. “It were drummer in brass b*****d band!”

    Thropely and Stan laughed and slapped Wilf on the shoulders.

    Doris put down her knitting and went over to him. “Never mind, our Wilf,” she said consolingly. “Come into kitchen an Ah’ll make ye nice alien’s brain poultice.” She turned and winked at the others. “That’ll soothe yer stingin sphincter!”

    They all laughed and Doris led Wilf away.

    “Ah’ll be sleepin in spare room tonight, love,” Thropely called. “Me back’s playin up again.”

    “Alright, love,” said Doris.

    As the door closed, Stan turned to Thropely. “More like yer c**k’s playin ye up again!” he said and they both laughed.

    “Stan’s just received a consignment o inflatable Filipino women for his Sex Shop,” Thropely told Roger.

    “Oh, have you?.”

    “Aye, we’re spending the night wi our organs surrounded by latex!” Stan added.

    “Care t’ join us, lad?”

    Roger politely declined.

    “Right then, Stan,” Thropely said, standing up. “Ah’ll nip into shed an fetch bicycle pump.”

    “Grand,” said Stan. “Ah’ll meet ye in spare room. Ah’ll get two nice ladies out the boxes for us.”

    Thropely rubbed his hands. “Ah’ll fetch stickin plasters as well. Just in case.”

    “Good idea,” said Stan, grinning.

    “Sticking plasters?” queried Roger.

    “Aye that’s right, lad,” Thropely told him. “Last time Stan was back-scutttlin one o them an she started to deflate. Slow puncture like.”

    Stan sniggered. “Ah remember that!” he said. “Organ was still erect wi sheet o white latex hangin round it.”

    “Aye, it looked like Italian Army flag flyin at half mast!” said Thropely and they both laughed and wandered out of the lounge.