Today's England

Today’s England

As we rush headlong into the 20th century sometimes I feel we should ask ourselves if we can really call ours a modern country. In the north of England there are people working and living in conditions an Englishman wouldn’t wish upon the French. I decided to travel to Blackburn in Lancashire to see for myself.

Upon arrival I made my towards the nearest mill which was turning out its workforce for the evening. Many of these workers were making their way straight from the gates to the door of the hostelry across the road. I decided that this would be the best place to start my enquiries.

I thought I was prepared for what I may have heard, but I was shocked as soon as they spoke. Such is their deprivation that they know nothing of elocution. It took several minutes to realise they were even speaking English. Some were becoming uneasy. My helpful correcting of their pronunciation was for some strange reason not appreciated.

Despite my station as Chairman of the Wealdstone Temperance Society, I knew that if I was to gain their trust I’d have to join them in quaffing equal quantities of the beverage known in these parts as ‘Bitter’. As I drank with them they told me various tales of the working practices at the mill. I locked these away in my mind ready to challenge the mill owner later. Strange as it may seem, as I drank and the evening wore on, I began to regard these uncouth ruffians with unfamiliar affection.

After a mere five hours of drinking with some complete strangers I felt oddly moved enough to embrace one of them around the neck and publicly declare that he was ‘my best chum ever’ (no hard feelings Charlie).

But enough of this revelry. It was time to confront the mill owner. He must have been warned of my approach as he seemed to employ some amazing device which made the very ground itself move beneath my feet and I fell several times. His front door also made use of a bizarre conjuring trick whereby the brass knocker appeared as a double image which moved around before my eyes.

Then it became really shocking. A force unseen to me, a henchman with a cosh no doubt, rendered me unconscious and I awoke to find myself in a police cell under the trumped-up charge of being drunk and disorderly. It just goes to show that for those rich enough to have friends in high places, corruption knows no limits.

The Letters of Gentlemen

Dear GC,

I was recently at the country home of Sir Enborne ‘blaster’ Smythe, a gentleman no doubt well known to many readers of GC, especially those who enjoy the odd spot of shooting or those with a ‘nose’ for a good brandy.

While enjoying the most wonderful sport bagging a few of ‘blaster’s renowned grouse I observed the man himself put away an entire decanter of the finest V.S.O.P. as if it were sherry. As I stood silently amazed at his fortitude and strength of character, ‘blaster’ ran across the field with a remarkable weaving motion giving anything that moved a rousing hello with both barrels of his new 12-bore. What a jolly fine chap he is, he even managed to wound me just below the knee, though even as I fell down into a pool of my own blood it was all I could do not to roar with laughter.

A day to remember, especially as I managed to bag several grouse. This however pales into insignificance against ‘blaster’s marvellous tally: 2 grouse, 3 pheasants, Rover (a damn fine gun-dog), 4 cows, 18 sheep and old Rodgers the gamekeeper who unfortunately took one in the lower torso.

Keep up the good work (and that’s an order you blighters!)

General Sir ‘Alfie’ Mainwaring-Barton

(retired)

Dear GC,

(Content of this letter has been censored)

Yours, worried of Gloucester

Editor’s reply: I can assure you my dear fellow that the sickening rumours you have heard are not true. Children are a blessing from God to married couples. I should know - I have three healthy children myself and I have certainly never done any of those things with my good lady wife. I do have some experience of the vile and beastly acts of which you speak. During my time with the navy we were required to commit a necessary amount of indecency with the fallen women who frequented the docks - apparently it was a very effective form of aversion therapy for them. It never ceased to amaze me how satisfying helping others can be.

Dear GC,

I never believed that the more risqué letters to your publication were true until an event happened that changed my entire life. During an invigorating debate on the benefits of hanging for the non-payers of window tax at my local hostelry, I began to converse with a fine looking lady who had the unusual gift of being able to speak without embarrassing herself or her companions. After a long courtship we married and now, only three years later, she occasionally allows me to glimpse her in her night clothes. I will keep you posted for any further developments

(Name withheld by request)

Editor’s reply. May I remind our readers that although this is a publication for adult gentlemen, we do have standards of decency to maintain. Had this letter not been written by an old teacher of mine I would have had no hesitation in sending it straight to the police, and I certainly wouldn’t have upheld the request from old Mr. Crawford to protect his identity.