Rank: Advanced Member
Joined: 6/1/2011
Posts: 1,005
Points: 1,912
Location: United Kingdom
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Introducing Bert and The Subject of flatulence
When her grandfather had closed the door behind her she felt it was as if he had shut the world out. There was an indefinable ‘something’ about the room that seemed timeless, as if this corner of the house was shut away from the hub-hub of life and held secrets of its own. There was something in the air, in the atmosphere; strangeness; almost as if she were in a different dimension. She shook her head and dismissed her thoughts as fanciful.
Before the loss of her parents Amanda had been an avid reader and would, under normal circumstances, have delighted in this room; not just for the books but for its exploratory potential as well. Now she just sighed and held her arms down at her sides in resignation and despair. She was lost within herself and went into a dreamlike state, thinking of the past and what might have been, when suddenly her reverie was broken up by what she thought was a shrill cry. She dismissed it. But no, there it was again. She listened intently. Yes it was a voice; a squeaky, distant voice.
“Hey!” It called again. “You there; yes, you young lady. Come over here.”
Amanda looked around the room but there was no one in sight. She began to think she was imagining it when once more it called out:
“I said come over here.”
“Where is over here?” said Amanda, her voice seeming to boom in the silence of the place, making her feel a bit of a fool speaking to someone in what was an apparently empty room.
“Over here on the desk, look,” said the squeaky voice.
Amanda walked over to the desk and stood in front of it; there was no one there and she was beginning to think her mind was playing tricks on her.
“That’s it,” said the voice. “Now take me out of this case if you please. I want to stretch my legs.”
“What case? Where are you?”
“I’m in the glass case on the desk, look, right in front of your nose; you should get some glasses my dear.”
Amanda looked down to see a small glass case in the centre of the desk top. Inside was a sixpenny piece mounted on a bed of red velvet cloth; it was just a sixpence; nothing more.
“Well, all I can see is an old and battered sixpence; so where are you?”
“Look young lady, just take me out of the case and set me down on the desk and you will see.”
Amanda could not believe she was doing this but she opened the case and took the sixpence out placing it upon the desk top just as she had been asked to. At once the sixpence began to move and then to transform and grow into a little old man about three inches high, seated crossed legged upon a silver bench, with a long-stemmed pipe in his mouth.
Spirals of silver smoke wafted up towards Amanda as the old man drew on the stem of his pipe and puffed out his cheeks. He was dressed in calf-high black boots, into which were tucked green coloured and somewhat baggy and wrinkled trousers, above which he sported an open necked yellow shirt and a grey and black striped waistcoat. Upon his head was a high flat-topped black hat that was coming apart at the crown. His eyes were twinkly eyes, widely set above a rather large nose which he kept stroking from time to time as if it were a pet cat.
After several long pulls on his pipe he let out a sigh of contentment and getting up to stretch his legs, entirely ignoring Amanda, went on a walkabout on the desk top with his hands placed behind his back, just like royalty. He seemed for the moment to be lost in thought and unaware of Amanda standing over him goggled-eyed. That is until she coughed loudly, making him jump.
“Now then young lady… don’t be alarmed,” he said backing off. “Orange Marmalade at your service. You may call me Orange.”
Amanda was so shocked to once again hear him address her that she was unable to find her voice.
“Wake up girl,” said the old man raising his voice, “I said Orange Marmalade at your service. You know you must get your ears de-waxed child.”
This stung Amanda into action.
“What kind of ridiculous name is that?” said Amanda, finding her voice, her tone full of anger. She was angry; angry with everybody and everything. “And what is more my ears are working perfectly well thank you. I suggest you learn to speak up!”
“Ridiculous?” said the old man, “It is what one might call original. I like to change my name every so often. You see I was trapped in this pantry for thirty years and every year the owners stocked it with orange marmalade. Original people have to have original names you know. I was once called Elongated Turnip. I was in this fellows pocket and he kept using the expression when describing to his friend a nose on a certain person he had met. I thought the term had a somewhat musical note to it so I adopted it as my name for nigh on 70 years.”
“Well I refuse to call you orange; it is too daft.”
“All right, Bert will do.”
“And how did you become trapped in a pantry, that’s ridiculous, as if I would believe that?”
“Ah, that is a long story, but I don’t suppose you have time for that, being a busy young lady and all.”
“Why are you so battered and bent?” said Amanda, ignoring his comment.
“Ah that began back in 1573. Some young gent acquired me and shortly after that he got engaged to a buxom wench. He hammered me all bent and twisted… and then him and his fiancé stood on a bridge over the Thames and tossed me in as a votive offering… "
"But that is stupid,” said Amanda, interrupting yet again “why not just throw you in and be done with it. What was the point of disfiguring you?”
“It was an attempt to devalue me, devotees to the River God do not want their offerings recovered intact, they try to destroy their intrinsic value so as to make them valueless to the finder, but since I am a coin of the realm it is more difficult to devalue me. Now where was I… ah yes… I was furious at the time but as I settled into the mud near the bank I began to realize that this would be a good opportunity for reflection… ”
“Reflection… what does a mere sixpence have upon which to reflect? Don’t be ridiculous,” said Amanda, this time rudely interrupting the old man.
“I’ll have you know missy I am no ordinary sixpence. I was the first sixpence ever to come off the mint. That was in 1551. Not only that but you know I was born…ahem…minted at the York Mint. I am a Yorkshire sixpence. My cousins at the other end of the country in London, at the Tower Mint, think they are the cat’s whiskers, but it was in Yorkshire that I, the first sixpence, came into being.”
“Ok so how does that make you any different from other sixpences?” said Amanda dismissively.
“Well the first coin of any denomination is a magic coin possessed…”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she said, interrupting again and raising her voice.
“You like that word don’t you. Aren’t you talking to me right now? Wouldn’t you say that was magical? As I said, or rather tried to say before I was rudely interrupted, we have magical powers.”
“Then why didn‘t you just jump out of the Thames and mend yourself?” said Amanda sarcastically.
“It doesn’t work that way. We are gatherers of knowledge. Everything any sixpenny coin touches, and comes to know, is given to me by magic. So you see I always have plenty to reflect upon. You know what, I was in that slime and mud for near on fifty years.”
“I am surprised you ever came out of it.”
“You’re surprised? So was I, but as luck would have it the authorities that were decided to build a dock, and then I was dredged up. Some bloody little urchin kid, ‘scuse my language, spotted me and ran back through the back lanes to his yard, got his dad’s hammer and fair straightened me up. It was right uncomfortable at the time, but it was good to back be in shape; of some sorts.”
“Oh. But you can’t have much to do now surely.”
“Why?”
“Well everyone knows your sort isn’t made anymore,” said Amanda, truculently.
“We are not made young missy; we are minted.”
"Sorry I’m sure… minted… whatever difference that makes. But minted or made there can’t be many of you now.”
“That’s just where you are wrong. Since the advent of decimalization in 1971 we have diversified. Of course the sixpence was retained as currency right up until the end of June 1980; London transport couldn’t survive without us. They had all these slot machines and there wasn’t a coin of value in the new currency between two and five pence. They kept us and we were classed as two and a half pence.”
“Diversified, how can a coin diversify?”
“Well people took to making rings of us, or necklaces and bracelets among other things. They also hoarded us and kept us back for their plum puddings. They got all nostalgic over us. We are all over the world you know. Yes, I know of one necklace that sits around the neck of a Zulu chief in Natal. Mind you that wasn’t a case of diversifying; more a case that ‘to the victor go the spoils’. The Zulus defeated the British army encampment at Islandlwana in 1879 and one of the victorious Zulu leaders collected the sixpences from the dead. They made a victory necklace out of them for him. It has been passed down ever since that day.”
“I’ve never heard of that!”
“There’s a lot you have never heard of young lady. If we sixpences were the guardians and writers of history you would get a very different story told… mark my words; we were there. We know the facts. Did you know that King Henry the Eighth was grossly flatulent? He…”
“That is enough, it’s gross; I don’t wish to know that; it’s ridiculous!” said Amanda angrily
“There you go again. You think you are the cat’s whiskers don’t you young lady.”
“The Cat’s Whiskers; yes, you like that phrase don’t you.”
“Oh touché young lady, touché,” said the old man with a big grin upon his face.
“And stop calling me young lady. I’m not your young lady!” said Amanda stamping her feet in anger.
“As you please; Mandy.”
“It’s Amanda to you, if you please. Who told you my name any way?” Amanda remonstrated.
“Well…,” began the sixpence...
“Wait a moment. I have caught you out lying. You said you were minted in 1551; right”?
“Yes… ”
“Well Henry the Eighth died in 1547. So there! How do you know he was flatulent?”
“My dear young lady…,” began the old man in reply.
“I said stop calling me young lady,” said Amanda, fiercely.
“As you please Amanda but there will come a time when that has a pleasant ring to it. Now where was I… ah yes, now I recall. Sorry about that but when you get to be over 400 years old the memory sometimes takes a bit of time to crank up. But that aside let me continue from the point where you so rudely interrupted me, and not for the first time may I remind you.”
“Oh please do get on with it will you,” said Amanda irritably.
“I will. What you do not seem to grasp is that as the first sixpence I was an innovation so to speak. I was boxed up in a somewhat elaborate contraption and immediately rushed off to the palace and presented to the young King Edward V1. He was like a young boy with a toy…well he was only thirteen at the time. I’ll never forget that bumpy journey down to London from York. Carriage and horses were becoming popular. You know that took all of one week… ”
“But what has that got to do with Henry the Eighth’s supposed flatulence?” said Amanda impatiently raising hers eyes toward the ceiling.
“Amanda, you have about as much patience as a cowpoke fleeing before a stampeding herd of cattle. Now do not interrupt on this occasion. As I was saying the young king was very pleased with me, so pleased, I may add, that he asked for more sixpences to be delivered to the palace at once; in fact he took such delight several such deliveries were received in the early years of us newly minted sixpences.
It was not long before I became the recipient of the entire goings on and of the gossip of the palace. For example one of my sixpences over-heard a servant, an old retainer, relating that he was in attendance at the court of King Henry Eighth on a certain occasion, when the king, in the presence of some notable dignitaries, let off a fearsome raspberry fueled by heavy doses of cabbage and red meat. One woman in his near vicinity was overcome by the fumes and swooned. Of course it was covered up, no one wanting, or willing, to embarrass the king, and a page boy was manhandled out for a lack of control of his bodily functions; but everybody knew the smell had the odour of royalty about it. After all, as this servant relating the story said, ‘this was a regular occurrence.’ ”
“A likely story, and anyway it does not change the face of history. It doesn’t matter if he was flatulent or non-flatulent.”
“Hmmm… it mattered to that page boy and to the lady who swooned. She was banned from court, on the spot, and all her husband’s lands confiscated. Her name was Caterwaul you know.”
“Really, of what interest is her name?”
“You don’t hear of many Caterwauls today do you? And why is that…”
“I am sure you are going to tell me.”
“Because she was not firing on all cylinders…”
“I think you mean she lost her mind through shock.”
“Well, yes; not to put too fine a point on it. She took to the streets and could be heard wailing all night… just like a cat. Most people with the name Caterwaul changed it to Cotterel. The name Caterwaul became synonymous with the sound of a wailing cat. Of course the present day Caterwaul’s and Cotterels will vigorously deny all this, but then they would wouldn’t they.”
“Your version of history is very colourful, but I suggest there is more colour than substance,” said Amanda airily.
“Hmmm… What do you know of Anne of Deeves?”
“Cleves was her name,” said Amanda haughtily, “and she was Henry’s fourth wife,” she added triumphantly.
“Humph… well… er… yes. A mere slip of the tongue I assure you. Just the bare facts I see. Humph! Well she was German you know and the marriage lasted only three days over six months. I don’t suppose you have any idea why?”
“Well it is obvious isn’t it… they did not get on together,” said Amanda drily.
“Enough of the platitudes Amanda, now as I said she was German and it was not long before she introduced Henry to German sausages. She immediately regretted it as it fueled his flatulence to such a prodigious degree that she felt suffocated. She retched all night and he was sorely tried. So you see how important knowledge of true history is. If it were not for the introduction of the German sausage to Henry’s diet they may have remained married and she may have produced an heir to the throne thus altering the course of history. But for the passing of air, the modern day monarchy may not exist as we know it today. What is more Henry would never have married Catherine Howard, hence she would not have been beheaded and her descendants would likely be alive today. So there!
Well enough of this lets get down to business. Right Amanda here’s the deal… ,” said Bert.
It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it. Aristotle
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Rank: Advanced Member
Joined: 6/1/2011
Posts: 1,005
Points: 1,912
Location: United Kingdom
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Marissa, it is an excerpt from a book I am writing about a young girl who loses her parents in a tragic accident and who is being cared for by her grandparents who live in a large Manor. Every time she enters the huge old library she either imagines, or sees for real, the sixpence who helps through her grief through storytelling.
The deal is that Amanda was to come into the Library on the last day of every month and on the first of the next or she would be overrun by giant spiders or her hair would turn to green slime. The gap in between visits relates her grandparents struggle to help her to normality etc.
Each time she goes to the library Bert takes the opportunity to tell his stories, he is a raconteur, and one of them always contains a lesson for her to help her on her way.
It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it. Aristotle
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