Millom in the Dock Read Online Free

charges so don’t adopt worry as
part of your life experience, simply laugh instead. Erm … will you
build a Police Station?”
    “Maybe,
although we probably won’t need it, being model citizens and all
that and, maybe it’s a bit pinnacle-ish for a Police Station? But,
we will anyway, it may put the town on the map one day, you just
never know.”
     
    ***
     
    That was it
easy eh? Nothing’s changed much as the Banks even all these years
later are fantastic establishments, I’m sure you agree …
seriously.
    Well M’lud they
quickly built the ironworks foundry and, in order to protect
themselves against the inclement weather (courtesy of Scotland and
the Irish Sea), banged a few wooden huts together thus forming a
main street which they named ‘Wellington’ after their football
footwear. They also built a few larger three and four bedroomed
scattered dwellings here and there for those poshies who fancied
the detached lifestyle away from commoners. Everything seemed
perfect.
    Ahhhhhhhh!
    The minority
majority, the ‘miner birds’ though, being very aware, noticed a
tidgy widgy sub-atomic, nano quantum flaw in the town plan. Each
time they went shopping in Wellington Street, no matter how hard
they all searched, no shops could be found. This disaster meant
that they were all getting cold, hungry and bored because of their
inadequate clothing and, as of yet, poor rabbiting skills. The
original rabbit became anthro (man) phobic and wouldn’t come out of
his burrow any more … poor wee thing. So the miner who sat by the
burrow for ages with a shovel raised above his head waiting was
really wasting his time. He should have gone fishing instead. Were
they doomed then? Was it all over so early and after so much effort? Naaaaa!
     
     
    THE KING OF
MILLOM ARRIVES
     
    King Arthur
    Earrrr-ly one
mor-or-ning, just after the Sun had ri-i-sen, their saviour arrived
and walked Royally over the brow of a beautifully lit Black Coombe.
He was dragging his large handcart behind him which was all the
heavier, but not that much, because his lovely wife Cissy was sat
atop the bric-a-brac mound. However he noticed the distant
dwellings and out came the ancient brass telescope. Arthur Ferguson
surveyed Wellington Street at twenty times magnification and
thought to himself … Shiiiiittttt!? But! Where there’s Shiiiiittttt
there is money, so they say.
    One hundred?
Two hundred years or so ago when all this drama happened animals,
which now reside on farms , were neither
evolved nor domesticated in M. Also, by the way, M’lud, ladies and
gentlemen of the Jury, dear reader, Arthur Ferguson is ‘ageless and
infinite’ (and a friend of mine so I should know) which is the
perfect excuse for the previous sentence.
     
    ***
     
    Sheep were not
as you know them now, oh no! Armed with powerful fangs and razor
sharp claws they were deadly hunters, making sabre toothed tigers
seem limp clawed in comparison. They would crouch in the long grass
and leap with deadly precision on who or whatever happened to be
passing in order to feed, or just for a laugh! They weren’t fussy
either, food and between meals punch-bags (which enhanced not
ruined their appetite) came in many different and varying forms. If
it moved and had bones … or not (?) it was dinner, or a sparring
partner. They didn’t hang around in flocks either but, were
independent ferocious woolly predators. Cows were similarly
different. Back then bovines were tree dwellers, jumping from
branch to branch and dangling with the use of a prehensile
(bendy-curly) tail and gripping hooves. Cows tended to dangle above
blackberry bushes and grab blackberry feeding blackbirds. They
would then hold the bird above their open mouth and gently squeeze,
swallowing the sticky stream of partly digested fruit which they
loved. It also beat getting pricked to death on the bushes and you
try picking blackberries with hooves designed for gripping thick
branches. Not easy at all, be glad you have