into the free, out of the fryingpan and into the fire.
So either the barman didn't like witches (horror movies have a lot to answer for) or he knew of something he wouldn't or couldn't talk about. He might have thought I was silly in broaching the subject and turned away or he might be scared of words scattered to the wind and heard by unseen ears. Whatever the reason I was now sat alone on the table idly watching the world go by outside the window.
A van with a works logo on the side pulled up in the small village square and more lads climbed out than seemed physically possible, or legally allowable. Each was dirty, dust worn from a days hard graft in the outdoors. I thought them farmers, or labourers there on, but only because it seemed fitting in a romantic ideal that these strong young men should be out scything, ploughing and sowing all by hand with their shirts off. They could just as easily be builders or road sweepers for all I knew, but I'll stick to the farmer image if its all the same to you.
The leader, or at least the tallest and broadest of the pack was unmistakably Jed, his "fashion beard" catching the sun and shining golden, the same rays causing a halo effect around his blonde curled locks. "No angel" I muttered to myself as I sipped my beer but all the same I could see how Saxon's could have believed it when the Anglo's arrived if they looked anything like this. The pack moved to allow Jed through as he emerged from the pack and led it as a single body towards the Jolly Reaper.
Inside Arn had taken up residence at the bar, replacing the younger barman and filling the void by folding himself into the exact same position hunched over the paper.
Silence was smashed hard and fast like the post van I pulled out on on my first driving lesson and floor boards rocked to the heavy and determined footsteps of six thirsty, eager workers all with a pressing need for pressed apple products fermented and chemical induced fusion of hops and water. The conversations were extremely audible and incomprehensible; But I did make out a few words of "round" and "pint".
Arn busied himself, and as a long standing example of his trade had already begun the clamorous requests aimed his way before the last syllable had been uttered into existence and the first pints drawn before the same ones could evaporate into his ear.
Pints were drawn with a smile, as was the retrieval of the money, coins and crumpled notes bulked out with bits of lint, inches of straw and oily or rust nuts and washers. No matter what condition, it was quickly scrutinised before being dropped into a till draw hidden built into a technological marvel that had so much tech bolted to it that if you told me it could make coffee and stand in for air traffic control I would have believed you. It sat in start contrast to the rest of the public house's interior and its main clientele, but goes to show how rustic an establishment strives to be or how run down with lack of internal investment, the money taking side is always state of the art.
The lads filled the room, its hard to describe how a small group can expand in mass to conquer a size such as this but confidence (and the aroma of hard work) can do a lot. I pulled back into my chair and watched the interaction of the men who jostled and joked together. Here I thought, if you could get past the macho exteriors, were encyclopaedias of local knowledge on legs (O.K. don't think about legs - mind on the job). I now had a dilemma of how to introduce a new topic of conversation into the cacophony, but it was solved for me almost as quickly as it passed through my mind.
Jed turned around and perched on the bar by flexing his arms back and shifting his weight. Cloth in the arms of his worn shirt strained with the expansion of muscle caused by his actions and I had quickly swallow a mouthful of saliva before I started to dribble. He looked around the bar and his eyes focused on me sat by myself on the table. The other lads had noticed me too and a brief conversation erupted about who was going to come over but, without a word of debate, Jed walked over and sat down.
I was ready for the same tired chat-up lines so I held up a hand when he started to speak and said.
"Yes, you can buy me a drink. I'm on pints. And after that you can talk to me about what you know of this delightful little village and all the things within."
This seemed to throw the big man; good, he isn't all confident after all. He followed the instructions to the letter, paid for and delivered a pint of amber liquid which turned out to be a locally produced cider of exceptional quality and strength. He sat down opposite me and I could tell he was searching for words to conjure up a remarkable beginning. His friends, either through support or to be there when the big man crashed and burned, pulled closer and hung around chatting quietly without looking like they were desperately eavesdropping. They failed miserably. but it was good to know I had an audience to my questions if Jed was at a loss to answer.
"I love this village." I said, an easy opener.
"Where are you from, your accent isn't a local one." He countered.
"I've come here from London but I'm not here to talk about me." I took a sip of the cider without breaking eye contact. "I want to know about you........or more exactly what you know."
"You're not a copper." He asked rhyming copper with scum. "You're far too pretty to be mucking about with those tossers." He smiled but wasn't sure.
"No." I said. "I am not, but I'm still interested in anything you can tell me about this place."
A younger lad cut into the conversation as if he had been part of it from the start. "You're one of those big cat hunters aren't you?" The glee in his voice standing proud. "She's after the dirt on Gloria."
"Who's Gloria?" I asked to the new speaker. His companions were shaking their heads and muttering as if I had asked for a story 'during the war'.
"Who's Gloria!" He replied. "She's world famous, or otherwise you'll not be here asking about her."
"Now Si." Said Jed turning in his seat. "I'm on the pull here and you want to talk about imaginary panthers stalking the fields again."
I waded in to the exchange and made it clear I was very interested in hearing about panthers, Gloria's or any other weird things happening in these parts.
I was asked almost by committee if I was 'one of them' and after a brief uncertainty of who 'them' were I had to answer to the negative that I was not one of those weird girls that hang about with Mary, even if I was seen drinking with them last night. And I was also not in the habit of being all weird and spooky. ( I had to obviously lie a bit).
The story unfolded in much the way I was hoping and expecting, a lot of exaggeration and fairy-tale interwoven with nuggets of actual fact scattered within when something more fantastical couldn't be dropped in. Over the course of a couple of months animals have been found mauled in the woods after being dragged out of the neighbouring fields. Nicknamed Gloria after the lads ex (and I suspected only) girlfriend who drags men to the woods to rip their hearts out. A ghostly howl was heard before the last one was found, a ram, a few nights ago followed by a scream almost human and that of the Devil himself.
There was a disagreement within the clique and a differing story was told about the weird girls, all except Jason's sister who is fit, (a lad I guessed was Jason thumped the speaker hard on the arm) who go into the woods at midnight and play at witches and sacrifice rams to their evil gods and get all naked and dance around covered in its blood. There was a lot of agreement about the naked dancing bit, especially about Jason's sister who the consensus stated would like to see in the buff. More thumps later the conversation drew back to the more mundane as Jed started to speak.
"That's all crap, and you lads know it. The police have been down here and they said it was hunting hounds that escaped from their kennels and have now been rounded up."
"But..." Started Simon. "What about the ghostly howl?"
"Dogs do howl, famous for it in fact and more so than cats that growl or roar. Have you never seen David Attenborough in Africa?" Said Jed educationally. "Now shut up and push off, I have a lady to talk too."
The guys grumbled and headed back off to the bar where another round was purchased and their conversation turned to football and tv.
A van with a works logo on the side pulled up in the small village square and more lads climbed out than seemed physically possible, or legally allowable. Each was dirty, dust worn from a days hard graft in the outdoors. I thought them farmers, or labourers there on, but only because it seemed fitting in a romantic ideal that these strong young men should be out scything, ploughing and sowing all by hand with their shirts off. They could just as easily be builders or road sweepers for all I knew, but I'll stick to the farmer image if its all the same to you.
The leader, or at least the tallest and broadest of the pack was unmistakably Jed, his "fashion beard" catching the sun and shining golden, the same rays causing a halo effect around his blonde curled locks. "No angel" I muttered to myself as I sipped my beer but all the same I could see how Saxon's could have believed it when the Anglo's arrived if they looked anything like this. The pack moved to allow Jed through as he emerged from the pack and led it as a single body towards the Jolly Reaper.
Inside Arn had taken up residence at the bar, replacing the younger barman and filling the void by folding himself into the exact same position hunched over the paper.
Silence was smashed hard and fast like the post van I pulled out on on my first driving lesson and floor boards rocked to the heavy and determined footsteps of six thirsty, eager workers all with a pressing need for pressed apple products fermented and chemical induced fusion of hops and water. The conversations were extremely audible and incomprehensible; But I did make out a few words of "round" and "pint".
Arn busied himself, and as a long standing example of his trade had already begun the clamorous requests aimed his way before the last syllable had been uttered into existence and the first pints drawn before the same ones could evaporate into his ear.
Pints were drawn with a smile, as was the retrieval of the money, coins and crumpled notes bulked out with bits of lint, inches of straw and oily or rust nuts and washers. No matter what condition, it was quickly scrutinised before being dropped into a till draw hidden built into a technological marvel that had so much tech bolted to it that if you told me it could make coffee and stand in for air traffic control I would have believed you. It sat in start contrast to the rest of the public house's interior and its main clientele, but goes to show how rustic an establishment strives to be or how run down with lack of internal investment, the money taking side is always state of the art.
The lads filled the room, its hard to describe how a small group can expand in mass to conquer a size such as this but confidence (and the aroma of hard work) can do a lot. I pulled back into my chair and watched the interaction of the men who jostled and joked together. Here I thought, if you could get past the macho exteriors, were encyclopaedias of local knowledge on legs (O.K. don't think about legs - mind on the job). I now had a dilemma of how to introduce a new topic of conversation into the cacophony, but it was solved for me almost as quickly as it passed through my mind.
Jed turned around and perched on the bar by flexing his arms back and shifting his weight. Cloth in the arms of his worn shirt strained with the expansion of muscle caused by his actions and I had quickly swallow a mouthful of saliva before I started to dribble. He looked around the bar and his eyes focused on me sat by myself on the table. The other lads had noticed me too and a brief conversation erupted about who was going to come over but, without a word of debate, Jed walked over and sat down.
I was ready for the same tired chat-up lines so I held up a hand when he started to speak and said.
"Yes, you can buy me a drink. I'm on pints. And after that you can talk to me about what you know of this delightful little village and all the things within."
This seemed to throw the big man; good, he isn't all confident after all. He followed the instructions to the letter, paid for and delivered a pint of amber liquid which turned out to be a locally produced cider of exceptional quality and strength. He sat down opposite me and I could tell he was searching for words to conjure up a remarkable beginning. His friends, either through support or to be there when the big man crashed and burned, pulled closer and hung around chatting quietly without looking like they were desperately eavesdropping. They failed miserably. but it was good to know I had an audience to my questions if Jed was at a loss to answer.
"I love this village." I said, an easy opener.
"Where are you from, your accent isn't a local one." He countered.
"I've come here from London but I'm not here to talk about me." I took a sip of the cider without breaking eye contact. "I want to know about you........or more exactly what you know."
"You're not a copper." He asked rhyming copper with scum. "You're far too pretty to be mucking about with those tossers." He smiled but wasn't sure.
"No." I said. "I am not, but I'm still interested in anything you can tell me about this place."
A younger lad cut into the conversation as if he had been part of it from the start. "You're one of those big cat hunters aren't you?" The glee in his voice standing proud. "She's after the dirt on Gloria."
"Who's Gloria?" I asked to the new speaker. His companions were shaking their heads and muttering as if I had asked for a story 'during the war'.
"Who's Gloria!" He replied. "She's world famous, or otherwise you'll not be here asking about her."
"Now Si." Said Jed turning in his seat. "I'm on the pull here and you want to talk about imaginary panthers stalking the fields again."
I waded in to the exchange and made it clear I was very interested in hearing about panthers, Gloria's or any other weird things happening in these parts.
I was asked almost by committee if I was 'one of them' and after a brief uncertainty of who 'them' were I had to answer to the negative that I was not one of those weird girls that hang about with Mary, even if I was seen drinking with them last night. And I was also not in the habit of being all weird and spooky. ( I had to obviously lie a bit).
The story unfolded in much the way I was hoping and expecting, a lot of exaggeration and fairy-tale interwoven with nuggets of actual fact scattered within when something more fantastical couldn't be dropped in. Over the course of a couple of months animals have been found mauled in the woods after being dragged out of the neighbouring fields. Nicknamed Gloria after the lads ex (and I suspected only) girlfriend who drags men to the woods to rip their hearts out. A ghostly howl was heard before the last one was found, a ram, a few nights ago followed by a scream almost human and that of the Devil himself.
There was a disagreement within the clique and a differing story was told about the weird girls, all except Jason's sister who is fit, (a lad I guessed was Jason thumped the speaker hard on the arm) who go into the woods at midnight and play at witches and sacrifice rams to their evil gods and get all naked and dance around covered in its blood. There was a lot of agreement about the naked dancing bit, especially about Jason's sister who the consensus stated would like to see in the buff. More thumps later the conversation drew back to the more mundane as Jed started to speak.
"That's all crap, and you lads know it. The police have been down here and they said it was hunting hounds that escaped from their kennels and have now been rounded up."
"But..." Started Simon. "What about the ghostly howl?"
"Dogs do howl, famous for it in fact and more so than cats that growl or roar. Have you never seen David Attenborough in Africa?" Said Jed educationally. "Now shut up and push off, I have a lady to talk too."
The guys grumbled and headed back off to the bar where another round was purchased and their conversation turned to football and tv.
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