A letter to Edith

3a, Mill End Terrace,
Swainthorpe,
North Yorkshire,
YN 1TX
01234 567890
Wednesday, 10 September 2008

Dear Edith,

Forgive me for not writing sooner but I've been that right bloody flummoxed by recent events I've hardly had time to draw breath. Any road, I've decided to put pen on paper and write to immediate family and friends to explain about Bert's and Mother's recent misfortune, hopefully before the Press get their mucky hands on the story.

I hardly know how to start.. It all happened a couple of weeks ago on a Sunday. Without my knowing, the previous night Bert had come home from the club with an old army pal who were pissed and had a stutter called Reggie, and a big pile of nicked veg to off-load on the Sunday market. Any road, the first I knew about any of this were right early the following morning when I got up and found this Reggie bloke lying on our privy floor surrounded by seven kinds of fresh vegetables snoring. "Well," I says, "I'll go to the foot of our stairs!" ..I shook his arm, but that weren't no good, all he did were fart, roll over onto his side, clasp a big cabbage to his chest and go straight back to sleep. Well, I stormed into our bedroom, 'woke Bert and demanded to know what in the wide world of sports were a-going on... I won't repeat what Bert actually said, (you know what he's like when he's been drinking the night previous). In mainly four letter words he told me the bloke in the privy were his old army pal Reggie who were a vegetable market stall owner, and would I sod off and leave him be while ten thirty?
"But I'm absolutely busting' for a pee!" I told him.
"Well, go an’ see Reggie," says Bert, "he's gorrabout 'alf-a-ton of 'em, …now for Christ’s sake stop moanin' and bugger off."

I won't go into detail about relieving myself that morning.. surface it to say, I had to move all the previous night's supper dishes first. What were worse though, just as I were balancing right precursorous like on a kitchen stool with me bum over-hanging the sink, Milky walks past the kitchen window! "Morni.. by 'eck!" He says and dropped a full crate of gold tops on his foot; he hopped around fine for a bit, but eventually he tripped over the crate and cracked his head on next-door's scullery wall, poor love.. He's been on the sick ever since, apparently. Any road, this Reggie bloke stayed fast asleep on our privy floor 'til Mother got up and laid into him with the lavvy brush ..It were Reggie's shouting and hollering what eventually ‘woke Bert who got out of bed and introduced us to his mate.. Mother were right fascinated by Reggie's fresh veg selection, (you know how she loves her food), and Reggie seemed a right pleasant sort of bloke even if he were a Southerner, (from Manchester), and we all took to him except for our Rover who did nowt but growl at him.. My brother Ted says dogs have got sick-scents about coming events, and by heck that dog were dead right to worry if it knew owt about its immediate future. Anyhow, as it happened, Reggie couldn't stay for lunch as he were supposed to be at Mablethwaite market about five hours previous and he were dead worried about his collies going all soggy-like: So, after leaving us with three bloody great cartons of veg, he drove off in his van.

Later, while I were attempting to cook the Sunday roast, Mother kept getting in the way and made a right bloody nuisance of herself what with boiling up piles and piles of brussels-sprouts, cauliflower, runner beans, cabbage, greens, broccoli, peas and spinach. As you know, neither Bert nor me are that partial to veg so we only had a few peas and some greens with our dinner, but Mother, she ate a mucking great pile of veg with hers and washed the whole lot down with no less than four and a half pints of milk stout! Bert and me agreed we’d never seen her eat and drink so much before. Any road, it were such an enormous blow out that we decided to leave the washing up 'til later and we all went for forty winks on the comfy chairs in the back room.

I suppose it were about two-thirty when it started.. This huge sort of rumble woke us up and vibrated me collection of china thimbles. "Ay up!" says Bert, "storm on the way.." Mother looked dead worried and began fidgeting about, (you know how she hates electric storms ever since her brother Ralph were struck by lightning while changing a forty watt light bulb in his pigeon loft). Any road, the thunder kept shaking the house and mother kept mumbling and fretting and fidgeting about.. Then, all of a sudden like, a huge rumble made us all jump, and in an instant Mother were up and out of her chair frenziedly gnashing her gums, and then to our amazement, without the aid of her stick she suddenly rushed out the room, belted straight upstairs like a whippet and slammed the privy door with an almighty bang. "Well bugger me!" says Bert, "I'll go to our 'ouse!" We could hear Mother in the privy immediately above our heads ..thumping around and shaking the ceiling she were. Rover began to whimper right pitiful like and darted under Bert's chair. "Bloody Norah!" I says, "I'd better go up an' see if there's owt wrong with her.."
"Aye, you'd better 'ad," says Bert, "..by 'eck …I tell y’ what, I've not seen her move that quick since '54 when she sat on me ferret”.
Well, I got about half way up the stairs when it started again. It began by sounding like another great big rumble of thunder but this time it went on getting louder and louder; I could feel the stairs shaking and the banister vibrating.. Then, just as sudden as it'd started, it just stopped ..In the silence what followed, I climbed the last few stairs up to the landing and began walking toward the privy. I'd just opened me mouth to ask Mother if she were all right when suddenly a bloody great explosion smashed the privy door clean off its hinges and blew me straight arse backwards up the landing into the front bedroom.. For a while I lay semi-conscious on the bedroom floor all covered in bits of brick and plaster, flannels, towels and me new pink Polly Easter lavvy curtains.. Suddenly I realised I couldn't see owt proper and scrambled to me feet in a right panic, but I discovered it were loads of dust all swirling about and not me eyes buggered after all. Then, tripping over big chunks of masonry, I stumbled toward the privy expecting to find our Mother dead from the blast ...but, there weren't no one in there at all ….just a great big hole in the floor where me lavvy used to be!..
It were then that I looked down through the hole and screamed.. It were like an horror film ..Mother were directly below me in the back room and she were floating around about six foot from the floor waving her arms and legs about and staring back up at me through the hole! Her eyes were fair bursting out of her head and she kept opening and closing her mouth like a giant goldfish! In total panic now, I ‘alf fell down the stairs and rushed into the back room…

What I found there, still makes me weak to think about. At this point, I suppose I should explain that what me and Bert had mistook for thunder had, in fact, been our Mother. It were all that bloody fresh veg and milk stout what she'd gotten down her. Them terrible rumbling noises hadn’t been thunder ..no, it were a massive attack of wind gathering forces inside her, and when she'd rushed from the room it hadn't been because she were frightened of a storm like Bert and me had thought, because there weren't no storm, it were Mother, and she’d frantically dashed upstairs to the privy to relieve herself. Any road, she’d only got as far as lowering her bum toward the lavvy when the pressure of wind became too great to hold and she let go with a massive fart what blew the complete lavvy and me low flush cistern straight through the floor, totally wrecking the privy and blasting me up the landing into the front bedroom.. Poor Bert though, he’d been sitting directly below in his comfy chair and our Rover were cowering and whining underneath it; and when Mother's second upstairs rumble had begun to shake the ceiling, Bert had looked up... As bad luck would have it, it were exactly then that Mother blasted the lavvy straight through the ceiling fetching him a right terrible blow, and apparently he grabbed his head and staggered to his feet. But then, as if this weren't bad enough, still frozen in a crouched position with her skirt clutched up underneath her chins, Mother lost her balance and fell backward through the hole in the floor and descended bum first with her knickers fluttering around her ankles.

Well, it were right awful what happened next: Just as Bert had staggered to his feet, Mother made a direct hit on him resulting in him getting his head wedged up her bum, but as that happened, Mother’s weight smashed Bert back down into his comfy chair where their combined weight burst him completely through the seat causing our Rover's head to get wedged up Bert's bum.. and then, with a superhuman effort, Bert had managed to heave himself up and out of the flattened chair.

While this were a-going on, I were upstairs and fortunately I’d missed seeing any of this. But when I looked down through the hole in the privy floor all I could see were Mother mysteriously floating, apparently unaided around the room. At this point I didn’t know our Bert had managed to get to his feet and were careering blindly around the room with his head stuck up Mother and Rover's head stuck up him! …Mother had appeared to be floating about, because Bert and Rover were completely hidden by her bulk causing me to experience what me brother Ted says were a Nautical Delusion.. Anyhow, when I got down the stairs I rushed into the back room where I beheld a dreadful sight ..Mother, Bert and Rover, (in descending order), were lumbering around, knocking down shelves, furniture and fittings and looking like one of them Red Indian scrotum-poles what you see on telly. Just as I'd gathered enough wits to do owt positive like phoning the infirmary, to my horror, Mother began to rumble again and at the same time Bert began waving his arms about like a windmill in a gale: Then, Mother's face went a right ghastly mauve colour and Rover looked like he were trying to swim. And then, without no warning, Mother let off another massive fart what exploded Bert's head out of her bum and launched her straight back up through the hole in the ceiling, just like one of them incontinent missiles taking off out of a li-lo. As Mother disappeared from view, poor Bert collapsed face first onto the back room carpet, but then, to my everlasting horror, Mother instantly reappeared as she dropped back through the ceiling and landed with a terrible thud on Bert's back; actually, as it turned out, this were a blessing in disguise, because this burst poor Rover's head out of Bert's bum and in a blur the dog hurtled tail first, yelping across the room, crashed straight through the sash window and shot into the back garden taking me best nets with him.

Eventually, when I’d collected me wits, I telephoned for an ambulance what arrived right quick ..but some precious time were wasted as the ambulance men got in a right two-and-eight and fell over each other several times as Mother let off a few more deafening farts. At the infirmary, Bert were treated for shock and severe bruising, and mother were treated for what the doctor said were, Chronic Flatlets, Miner Confusions and penile-debenture or some such thing ..but fortunately neither of them were kept in..

Poor Rover's left home, though..

Well, Bert and Mother are both convalescing now and me brother Ted is rebuilding the privy, mending the ceiling and redecorating the back room. Several crafty looking buggers from the local press have been snooping around.. I've said nowt, but you can bet your life that nosey cow at number seventeen will be spreading the news far and wide before long.


I trust this finds you both in good health.

Love from, Agnes, Bert and Mother.

P.S. And poor Rover, if he ever comes back.

P.P.S. Me Brother Ted says he read in the Daily Mirror, there were an unexplained tremor recorded at exactly the time Mother blasted the lavvy through the privy floor what measured 6.5 on the rectum scale.