Nicola Barker - Burley Cross Postbox Theft

LOT 12

Promise made: Arthur Wolf of Buck House, Old Woman’s Lane, promised to guide anyone ‘fit, bold or daft enough’ on a hike up Raven’s Peak on Kex Gill (included in this ‘package’ was a short, preparatory climbing lesson at Harehead Quarry).

Purchased by: Penelope McNeilly of Hawksleigh House, 5 Shortcroft Road, for her niece and nephew (Astrid and Ethan Logan), who are currently resident in BC while their parents are away in London.

Amount paid: £45

Upshot: The hike took place a couple of weeks back and was proceeding extremely well (by all accounts) until Mr Wolf chanced to see a Red Setter darting behind some scree at the base of the peak and hared off in hot pursuit of it, leaving the two young ones stranded for over an hour (believe it or not). Arthur had determined that this Setter was the same poor, mad creature that had escaped from a car outside the public toilets and had caused chaos at Saint’s Kennels on Guy Fawkes Night. He claimed that he would ‘recognize the dog anywhere’, since it came from the same litter as his late, much beloved Nell. During his extended absence (according to Astrid — a lovely girl. Shy. Modest.

Extraordinarily thin) a sudden, moorland mist came down, then the heavens opened up and the two children were left without rainwear (or refreshment) because Arthur was carrying the rucksack. Ethan has a severe hearing disorder (as you probably know) and is not to get water in his ears at any cost . Both young people were getting drenched and so Astrid made an executive decision to guide her brother home under her own steam (although they later turned up in Hazlewood or Middleton or somewhere equally improbable!). By the time Arthur returned (sans dog) they were nowhere to be seen (obviously). The two of them finally made contact with the McNeillys over five hours later (having borrowed a stranger’s phone to do so). A moorland search and rescue operation was already well under way. The whole thing was, all in all, an absolute bloody catastrophe. Arthur Wolf (for his part) swears that he didn’t leave the kids unattended for more than five minutes, tops, and that during this interlude the weather remained dry — if cloudy. Of course he has insisted on paying the £45 to the charity out of his own pocket, in a pathetic attempt to redeem himself, but I think it’s going to take a little more than that to rebuild the shattered tatters of his reputation, quite frankly.

LOT 13

Promise made: BC’s own celebrity folk singer and storyteller: the legendary ‘Little Wren with the Big Whistle’ aka Frank K. Nebraska (as he now prefers to be called) of the beautiful Solstice (formerly Rombald House), Piper’s Ghyll Road, promised an original song to be composed in honour of the purchaser, or an individual of the purchaser’s choice.

Purchased by: Trevor Ruddle at the Wharfedale Gazette . Amount paid: £475

Upshot: Oh-ho, I’m saving the best till last, here, Prue. Trevor Ruddle bought the promise with the intention of using it as the main prize in a raffle at his newspaper, the Wharfedale Gazette (while doing a large article on The Little Wren and his recent move to the local area to generate reader interest). He paid a generous amount for it and we were obviously all absolutely delighted at the BCAOPC for the extra publicity this generated for us. The only spanner in the works, I suppose, was that the promise was actually made by Frank K.’s wife, Kizzy Nebraska, not Frank K. himself (who was off on a promotional tour of Japan at the time).

When Frank K. returned and found out about Kizzy’s promise, the famously modest and ‘down-to-earth’ star was apparently none too pleased because he is (I quote), ‘an artist, not a performing f*****g monkey, in case you hadn’t noticed’. An added layer of complexity was brought to bear on the whole scenario by dint of the fact that the subsequent winner of the raffle was a charming Sri Lankan gentleman called Murali Arulpragasam, a successful businessman (and huge Little Wren fan) who lives just outside Draughton and imports/ exports special padded underwear for a living (from his native land, which he sells all over Europe, the US and Canada). The chief function of these undergarments is purportedly to help counter the problems of excessive flatulence. The Little Wren, who was already somewhat put out by the thought of composing a song to order, was then ‘dumbstruck’ when he found out the name he was to be expected to grapple with (especially as he is currently hard at work on both a new album and his long-awaited autobiography, which — unlike most modern-day celebrities — he is actually writing himself!).

Mr Arulpragasam has been quite amenable about the whole situation and said that he is ‘perfectly happy’ to reach some kind of a compromise with The Little Wren if The Little Wren finds his name too much of a proposition to conjure with/scan in a song. He has suggested, as an alternative, that The Little Wren writes something ‘loosely based on the issues of flatulence’ which he can then use as a ringtone on his mobile phone and as background music on his website DraughtonFlatulence.com. The Little Wren has not, as yet, responded to this idea, but I know for a fact that Trevor Ruddle is champing at the bit to run an article in the Gazette on the whole farrago. I literally shudder at the thought of the kind of cheesy pun he might come up with as a headline for the blasted piece.

SUMMARY

After a brief confab with Wincey, it seems that the BCAOP has raised a grand total of £3,101, but is presently in receipt of just £2,838 of that, £2,175 of which we are liable to have to return. This means our real running total is £663, on the understanding that The Little Wren can manage to come out of his artistic funk. If not, then it’s £188, minus Baxter’s cleaning bill of £38 and the cost of the party food, hire of the hall, balloons, etc.

On this (somewhat pessimistic) basis I’m reckoning it at approximately £107.00, all told.

Oh… And let’s just pray that our dear Mr Conan Hopkiss Jr isn’t of an overly vindictive or litigious bent, eh?

Happy Christmas, Prue.

Please come home soon and save me from this living hell…

Yours, resplendent in Lycra,

Seb

The Rectory

St Peter’s Church

Burley Cross

20th December, 2006

Dear Reverend Horwood,

(Further to our unfortunate little ‘contretemps’ on Sunday…)

It’s not that I didn’t like the carving, as such — I think it’s a marvellous piece of craftsmanship, I honestly do — it’s just that I wished you’d consulted with me before hanging it up so prominently in the church portal. It really did give me quite a shock when I walked in, slightly behind time (you were right, I was one or two minutes late), my mind running over the Order of Service, making the odd minor mental adjustment to my sermon (as one does), and then happened across it, totally unprepared.

It blindsided me, Reverend (there’s no point in pretending otherwise). It gave me quite a turn. It threw me out of kilter.

The way I see it, the entrance to a place of worship plays an important part in establishing the atmosphere of the entire institution (it ‘sets the scene’, so to speak). As I think I said on Sunday — although perhaps not as calmly (or as articulately!) as I would have liked — St Peter’s is an Anglican church, and therefore it doesn’t feel entirely appropriate to hang a crucifix in such a prominent position, especially such a… well, a ‘powerful’ and ‘confronting’ one as that!

When I accused you of hanging it up ‘simply to provoke me’, what I really meant to say was that I am perfectly well aware of the fact that you think my general theological stance borders on the ‘High Church’ (and that this isn’t something you particularly welcome in my approach to the ministry), but I certainly didn’t mean to imply that you were trying to undermine my work here at St Peter’s in any way (not at all , Reverend — perish the very thought!).