that,’ said Fenella and pushed a pencil and a slip of paper headed ‘Obituary Column’ across the desk. ‘Here y’are, Mrs, er, Shakespeare. Y’write y’message on that an’ it goes in Friday’s paper.’
‘It’s Brakespeare , young lady, an’ what do ah write?’
‘Owt y’like,’ said Fenella: ‘usually who’s dead an’ a message.’
‘An’ ’ow much is it?’ said Mary with a frown.
‘’Pends ’ow much y’write, but first six words are free,’ explained Fenella.
‘Ah see,’ said Mary with a smile and proceeded to print in large capitals: ‘HAROLD DEAD – PIG TRAILER FOR SALE’.
Mary Brakespeare had never been one for sentiment.
At last it was Big Dave’s turn. To his relief the office was empty of customers.
‘’Ello,’ said Big Dave nervously.
‘Good morning. What can ah do f’yer?’ said Fenella, eyeing up this huge Yorkshireman appreciatively.
Dave took the crumpled newspaper from the pocket of his donkey jacket and pointed to the Personal column. ‘Ah wanted t’put an ad in – er, for m’self.’
Fenella was curious but knew how to do her job. ‘So yer lookin’ for … a friend,’ said Fenella quietly.
Dave took a deep breath. ‘Yes, ah am.’
‘Well, y’can ‘ave a short ’eadline an’ up t’thirty words an’ y’can put abbreviations like G-S-O-H.’
‘G-S-O-H?’ said the perplexed Big Dave.
‘That’s reight. It stands f’ “good sense o’ ’umour”.’
‘Oh, ah see. Well, ah’ve got that all reight,’ said Big Dave with a shy grin. ‘An’ ’ow much is it?’
‘A pound,’ said Fenella.
‘A pound! That’s more than three pints o’ Tetley’s!’ exclaimed Big Dave.
Fenella, knowingly, nodded in agreement, and then gave Big Dave a form and a pencil.
‘Ah ‘aven’t done owt like this before,’ said Big Dave, feeling embarrassed.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Fenella, ‘’ah’ve seen ’undreds. Ah’ll check it when you’ve done.’
Dave took the paper to a counter near the window and, slowly but surely, and with much crossing-out, composed a thirty-word masterpiece using bits of other advertisements. He took it back to Fenella, who read with interest: AVAILABLE NOW! Tall, single, hardy outdoor-type, 39, brushes up well & likes driving large vehicles. WLTM good-looking 25–35 yr old with GSOH for friendship, pub visits & good times. York. Box 561066 .
‘That’s really good, Mr, er …’ Fenella glanced at the top of the form, ‘Robinson. An’ then y’circle one o’ these t’say which section it goes in,’ she said. At the bottom of the form was printed ‘M/M … M/F … F/M … F/F ( please circle )’ and Fenella looked thoughtful as he circled ‘M/M’. Dave smiled: after all, he thought, there was no doubting he was a man .
Eager to escape he hurried out, jumped in his dustcart and tore off on the back road to Ragley village to meet up with his little cousin outside their house on School View. The previous week Little Malcolm had been to Dixon’s in York and purchased a Merlin Pushbutton Car Radio, complete with long-wave and medium-wave bands, for £16.95. To Little Malcolm this was a fortune, but it had come with clear instructions and a fixing kit. He was installing it in his car when Big Dave pulled up. Little Malcolm grabbed his donkey jacket and jumped in.
He was aware that Big Dave was strangely silent as he crunched the dustcart into first gear. ‘Ow did y’gerron?’ he asked.
‘All reight,’ said Big Dave evasively. ‘Jus’ ’ad a bit of a wander round.’ He sighed deeply. ‘C’mon, Mal, let’s shift some bins.’
* * *
At the end of school, as I said goodnight to the children in my class, ten-year-old Tricia Hensall came up to me to show me her new wristwatch. ‘It’s one o’ them new Texas digital watches, Mr Sheffield,’ said Tricia. ‘There’s a button t’light it up so y’can tell the time at night.’
‘It’s wonderful, Tricia,’ I said and, as she ran off, I
‘It’s Brakespeare , young lady, an’ what do ah write?’
‘Owt y’like,’ said Fenella: ‘usually who’s dead an’ a message.’
‘An’ ’ow much is it?’ said Mary with a frown.
‘’Pends ’ow much y’write, but first six words are free,’ explained Fenella.
‘Ah see,’ said Mary with a smile and proceeded to print in large capitals: ‘HAROLD DEAD – PIG TRAILER FOR SALE’.
Mary Brakespeare had never been one for sentiment.
At last it was Big Dave’s turn. To his relief the office was empty of customers.
‘’Ello,’ said Big Dave nervously.
‘Good morning. What can ah do f’yer?’ said Fenella, eyeing up this huge Yorkshireman appreciatively.
Dave took the crumpled newspaper from the pocket of his donkey jacket and pointed to the Personal column. ‘Ah wanted t’put an ad in – er, for m’self.’
Fenella was curious but knew how to do her job. ‘So yer lookin’ for … a friend,’ said Fenella quietly.
Dave took a deep breath. ‘Yes, ah am.’
‘Well, y’can ‘ave a short ’eadline an’ up t’thirty words an’ y’can put abbreviations like G-S-O-H.’
‘G-S-O-H?’ said the perplexed Big Dave.
‘That’s reight. It stands f’ “good sense o’ ’umour”.’
‘Oh, ah see. Well, ah’ve got that all reight,’ said Big Dave with a shy grin. ‘An’ ’ow much is it?’
‘A pound,’ said Fenella.
‘A pound! That’s more than three pints o’ Tetley’s!’ exclaimed Big Dave.
Fenella, knowingly, nodded in agreement, and then gave Big Dave a form and a pencil.
‘Ah ‘aven’t done owt like this before,’ said Big Dave, feeling embarrassed.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Fenella, ‘’ah’ve seen ’undreds. Ah’ll check it when you’ve done.’
Dave took the paper to a counter near the window and, slowly but surely, and with much crossing-out, composed a thirty-word masterpiece using bits of other advertisements. He took it back to Fenella, who read with interest: AVAILABLE NOW! Tall, single, hardy outdoor-type, 39, brushes up well & likes driving large vehicles. WLTM good-looking 25–35 yr old with GSOH for friendship, pub visits & good times. York. Box 561066 .
‘That’s really good, Mr, er …’ Fenella glanced at the top of the form, ‘Robinson. An’ then y’circle one o’ these t’say which section it goes in,’ she said. At the bottom of the form was printed ‘M/M … M/F … F/M … F/F ( please circle )’ and Fenella looked thoughtful as he circled ‘M/M’. Dave smiled: after all, he thought, there was no doubting he was a man .
Eager to escape he hurried out, jumped in his dustcart and tore off on the back road to Ragley village to meet up with his little cousin outside their house on School View. The previous week Little Malcolm had been to Dixon’s in York and purchased a Merlin Pushbutton Car Radio, complete with long-wave and medium-wave bands, for £16.95. To Little Malcolm this was a fortune, but it had come with clear instructions and a fixing kit. He was installing it in his car when Big Dave pulled up. Little Malcolm grabbed his donkey jacket and jumped in.
He was aware that Big Dave was strangely silent as he crunched the dustcart into first gear. ‘Ow did y’gerron?’ he asked.
‘All reight,’ said Big Dave evasively. ‘Jus’ ’ad a bit of a wander round.’ He sighed deeply. ‘C’mon, Mal, let’s shift some bins.’
* * *
At the end of school, as I said goodnight to the children in my class, ten-year-old Tricia Hensall came up to me to show me her new wristwatch. ‘It’s one o’ them new Texas digital watches, Mr Sheffield,’ said Tricia. ‘There’s a button t’light it up so y’can tell the time at night.’
‘It’s wonderful, Tricia,’ I said and, as she ran off, I
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