Jenno’s Widdlington
by
Jenno
Oi ain’t no intellectual; Oi write ter be read.
Jenno's Widdlington
by
Jenno
Smashwords Edition
ISBN 978-1-4657-9811-4
Copyright 2010 Editions La Forge
Cover design and illustrations by Peter St John
All rights reserved
La Forge
320 Chemin de Poizieux
01170 Crozet
France
Editions
La Forge
Smashwords Edition, License Note
Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although it is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com.
Books by Peter St John
P’raps yew know already, but there’s some novels wot ‘ave got me in ‘em. It weren’t me wot wrote ‘em; they was written by Peter St John, but since Oi ‘ad ter keep on a-joggin’ ‘is mem’ry, an’ tellin’ ‘im wot ter write, it were as good as. This is wot them novels are called:
“Gang Territory”
“Gang Warfare”
“Gang Rivalry”
“Gang Loyalty”
“Gang Petition
and
“Gang Spies”
If yew wanna know more about ‘em, but only if yew really loike, yew c’d ‘ave a look, at
Yew c’n get ‘em in Kindle versions, an' there’s also a paperback of “Gang Territory” wot is published by SilverWood Books
http://www.silverwoodbooks.co.uk
There’s also moi blog:
But there ain't nobody wot don't take much notice o’ that neither. Well, yew can't blame 'em, really…
Preface
Ain’t “preface” a funny sorta word? It’s kinda loike me facing up ter wot yew’re goin’ ter get. Any’ow, Oi ‘ad the idea that Oi ought ter say somefink at the beginnin’ ter get yew ready fer wot comes after, ‘cos it ain’t always easy ter unnerstan’, even fer me; an’ cripes, that’s saying somefink.
The fing is, that lately, Oi’ve been puttin’ stuff up on Facebook (not prefacebook!). There’s a few people around wot seem ter loike wot Oi put there, so Oi decided ter collect it all tergevver in one place, as it were. An’ then Oi added a little bit more about moi village o’ Widdlin’ton, jus’ ter give yew good measure.
Peter St John ‘elped a bit at the start, but then ‘ee kept on an’ on about ‘ow moi writin’ weren’t all wot it could be. Well Oi know that already, don’t Oi? So Oi didn’t need ‘im ter tell me. An’ so Oi told ‘im straight out, that if’n ‘ee were a-finkin’ that Oi’m goin’ ter write posh English, jus’ ter please ‘im, an’ then lose all moi friends down the Lane wot’ll start believin’ that Oi’m suddenly puttin’ on ‘igh an’ mighty airs, then ‘ee c’n jolly well fink again.
Same goes fer yew. If’n yew don’t loike the way Oi write, then yew c’n always look at the pictures. It’s all free, so yew ain’t got nuffink ter complain about. Besides, ‘oo’s book is it anyway?
If’n yew’d loike ter see some stuff about me wot’s a bit posher, yew c’d take a look at Peter St John’s “Gang” books wot are all on http://www.peterstjohn.net.
Any’ow, ‘ere we go wiv moi book…
Wiv luv from Jenno.
3 February 2012
Oi’ve drawn yew a map of Widdlin’ton. It ain’t the Centre of the World even though it’s got my ‘ouse on it an’ all. Oi’ve marked my ‘ouse special, so’s yew can’t miss it.
Most people live in a sorta gang territory, loike wot Widdlin’ton is, but a few live in no-mans-land. Pity, ‘cos life’s less interestin’ there…
There’s some people wot reckon as ‘ow gang territories don’t exist. S’obvious that they ain’t never been ter Widdlin’ton…
There are even some wot say that Widdlin’ton ain’t a place; that it’s a state o’ mind. Cripes, they ought ter try livin’ there!
Cripes! It’s rainin’ apostrophes in gang territory!
Someone loike me, wot uses proper English most of the toime, is always more liable ter misinterpretation than all them ovvers wot are real careless when they speak. Know wot Oi mean?
An’ then people argue most about fings for which there ain’t ‘ardly any real evidence.
‘But them wot speak wivvout finkin’ c’n be listened to wivvout payin’ too much attention.
Oi want yew ter pay attention; but if’n yew don’t want, yew don’t ‘ave to. Oi’m generous loike that…
Love in Widdlin’ton is loike a dangerous machine wot nobody don’t properly understand. Yew don’t never know wot it’s goin’ ter do neither. Best keep well clear of it, loike wot Oi troi ter do… Oi fink…
Cripes, ain’t science a fantastic adventure, even if’n it ain’t got no clear idea of where it’s goin’?
That don’t stop scientists from studyin’ fings, even though they don’t know wot ‘uman bein’s really are. They ’ave faith in wot’s uncertain…
We ‘ad a bit of a war in Widdlin’ton, an’ there are some parents wot reckon as ‘ow Peter St John’s book about it is too violent. Well, they would, wouldn’t they?
Oi suppose it’s because livin’ is ephemeral an’ books ain’t so much; they're more solid… don’t yew fink?
Peter’s aunt ain’t ephemeral; she’s loike ‘er bicycle… uproight!
She reckons moi generation is real terrible. That don’t matter none, ‘cos Oi’m roight glad ter be in it.
Any’ow, yew don’t judge them wot yew love, ‘cept, that is, when yew it do outta duty. Yeah, that’s Peter’s aunt roight enough…
A lotta people reckon “Gang Rivalry” ain’t true. Cripes, don’t they never read nuffink!
It’s real ‘orrible ter foind out that wot yew believed ter be true, ain’t so. But it’s even more ‘orrible ter go on believin’ it.
We ‘ad a German bomber shot down in Widdlin’ton. It’s true. It’s in the picture.
Miss Hangar’s front door ‘as got a big iron knocker, but it’s no good knockin’ when she ain’t there.
Yew don’t need ter knock at yer own front door neither.
Unless yew’re at ‘ome, that is…
Oi’m getting’ ready fer some wins. Wot about yew?
Oi know some people wot say as ‘ow gang loyalty don’t really exist. Cripes, they needn’t apply ter join moi gang!
That reminds me: Oi’ve gotta take mesself seriously: ‘cos there ain’t nobody else wot does…
Roy is leader of the Lions Avenue Lot, wot is Peter’s gang. ‘Ee ain’t so bad fer someone wot is in anuvver gang. Leastways, there are girls in ‘is gang, an’ they get treated roight, not loike in JJ’s mob, wot is moi gang.
Well, it were moi gang in the beginnin’…
There ain’t no girls in the gang up The Street neither. But we showed ‘em a fing or two, Oi c’n tell yew…
D’yew know ol’ “Dismal”, wot’s in the Lions Avenue Gang? ‘Ee’s always positively negative, an Oi can’t get more positive ‘n that can Oi? Or do Oi mean, negative?
People wot ‘ave got a chip on their shoulder ought ter brush it off real quick afore it grows inter a hulkin’ great log.
The key ter ‘appiness ‘angs on a slender chain. Dismal’s broke ‘is; supposin’ ‘ee ever ‘ad one…
Soapboxes ain’t only fer makin’ racin’ carts; yew c’n use ‘em fer a cricket wicket too. Winnie’s a top racin’ champion but, in “Gang Loyalty”, she’s jus’ a beginner at cricket.
Cripes, an’ fer us girls, that ain’t the ‘alf of it ‘cos we’ve gotta beat the boys; ‘specially that lot up The Street where Winnie lives…
This ‘ere’s “Dismal” agen. Yeah, Oi know ‘ee don’t actually look it, an’ cripes, some people even loike dopy ol’ Dismal. Well Oi suppose ‘ee ain’t so bad, once yew get used ter ‘is perennial pessimism. Most of us reckon ‘ee does it a-purpose, but nobody ain’t real sure; not even ‘im… probably…
Optimists ‘ave faith in the power of good. Pessimists ain’t optimists.
Yew ought ter try ter be ‘appy, if only ter give a good example ter them wot ain’t.
Cripes, who ain’t reasonable, but then goes an’ acts real stupid? Yew c’n guess ‘oo Oi mean…
“Dummy”, oop’s… Oi mean Mr Pearce, is… well, let’s jus’ say as ‘ow ‘ee’s got medical problems. Besides, ‘ee ain't never ‘ad no chance ter go ter school, an’ ‘ee ain’t got no pyjamas neither, so it ain’t really ‘is fault. Peter an’ im became friends by accident, as it were. Ay’ow, that changed a lotta fings in Widdlin’ton. Cripes, did it ever… !
Simplicity simply ain’t bein’ a simpleton…
Archibald Spencer Spalding ’as got this fing about milk. ‘Ee don’t loike ‘is noime neither, wot ain’t surprisin’, ‘specially when yew look at ‘is initials. ‘Ee prefers ter be called “Golfball”. Peter don’t loike milk neither, p’raps that’s why they get on, an’ that ‘ad consequences… Any’ow, Golfball’s okay, even though ‘ee is in the Adare Road Gang.
Cripes, Oi’m a cover girl in Gang Territory! Yew c’n see me; if’n yew look real close…
Moi daft bruvver “Braces” is there an’ all, wiv that stupid “Itchyprick” Hitchcock an’ ol’ “Stinky” Chambers as well. Stinky ain’t nuffink too special neither.
Ichyprick Hitchcock reckons as 'ow there ain’t many pens wot keep on writin’, loike they should, ‘till the ink runs out.
Discouragement is a way o’ lookin’ at fings; so best jus’ look at ‘em a bit different. If’n yew can…
It mus’ be real rotten ter feel depressed all the toime. Oi wish Oi ‘ad a cure fer it, ‘cos it makes me feel down. Don’t it yew?
Freedom is a struggle, against bein’ put inter chains; wot we all ‘ave ter do all the toime.
It’s up ter yew: Either yew do nuffink, or yew ‘elp one anovver ter get free. Yew’ve got a free choice… Oi ‘ope…
Yew gotta be ready if’n yew want ter strike lucky…
“Gang Loyalty” is moi fav’rit book in all the world. It’s mostly about me, but that ain’t got nuffink ter do wiv it, ‘cos Oi ain’t narcissistic (Wowee, wot a wunnerful word that is!). Oi’m jus’ little ol’ me, an’ proud of it…
When somefink in the world is really well done once, it jus’ can’t be done over again. Take me fer instance…
Bein’ in a gang ain’t funny. So yew c’n stop laughin’…
The best drum ain’t necessarily the one wot makes the most noise.
Wot is, c’d be diff’rent, yew know. Yeah, an’ it’s up ter us ter make it better.
When yew got a commitment, yew c’n be ‘appy… So why not bang a drum in a band?
Don’t never take yerself too seriously; loike ol’ Bill Bates ‘ere.
An’ not too lightly neither…
They say that mankind is rational. Leastways, that’s wot people believe. Personally speakin’, Oi’ve got moi doubts about the “man” bit…
Poor ol’ Bill. Oi say that, ‘cos Winnie ‘ad ‘is measure an’ ‘ee didn’t loike it none, seein’ as ‘ow ‘ee’s the leader of The Street gang.
Gang loyalty is stickin’ wiv yer friends; even when they’re runnin’ out on yew…
Wot is unlikely, is dead certain ter ‘appen.
An’ then it gets worse…
Lotsa people ‘ave strong beliefs, but speakin’ personally, Oi believe, real strong, that it ain’t a good idea.
Oi don’t believe in belief: it brings nuffink but trouble…
People ‘ave jus’ got ter believe in somefink. If’n they aint got somefink sensible ter believe in, then cripes, they are goin’ ter believe in somefink wot don’t make no sense at all.
Wot yew believe c’n ‘ave a real big effect on ‘ow appy yew are; an’ so yew’d better be real careful wot yew believe. Believe me…
Even so, yew c’n believe wot ever yew loike; but Oi don’t recommend it…
This ‘ere’s the Haflin twins. They spend a lotta toime jus’ ‘angin’ around up The Street, waitin’ fer somefink ter ‘appen.
If’n yew jus’ wait around fer somefink ter ‘appen, yew moight ‘ave ter wait a real long toime…
Mrs Jennings keeps the store at Gables Corner. She’s a roight ‘appy lady wot laughs a lot.
Until we ‘ave learned ‘ow ter be ‘appy an’ noble, loike ‘er, we ain’t got much ter tell…
Wot don’t stop some people from tellin’ it…
The little picture’s frustratin’, an’ cripes, the big picture can’t be grasped. ‘As anybody got a Jenno-sized picture handy?
Some days, Oi feel kinda small; ovver days, Oi feel real tall: but mostly, Oi feel jus’ the size wot Oi am; an’ that’s okay too.
On November 11, shake moi can, an’ show yew care…
‘Ow d’yew loike moi poppy costume? Bit strikin’ wiv auburn ‘air, don’t yew fink?
On Armistice Sunday Oi always wear a poppy.
Peter St John’s gotta birfday comin’ up. But there weren’t room fer no more candles on the cake…
Peter St John is the best writer Oi know; but then, Oi don’t know many writers: Fact is, ‘ee’s the only one wot Oi know…
It’s ‘is birfday. Better not tell ‘im wot Oi said, leastways, not till after…
A writer ain’t somebody wot makes somefink outta nuffink; a writer is more loike somebody wot is in the middle, an’ shows ‘is characters ter the reader wiv a story. Leastways, that’s wot Peter St J makes out. But jus’ between yew an me, Oi reckon it’s the ovver way roun’, ‘cos it’s ‘im wot’s bein’ shown up by ‘is characters, don’t yew fink? Yeah…
Writin’ is ‘ard. An’ it’s me wot’s tellin’ yew. But not writin’ is even ‘arder; unless, o’ course, yew’ve got somefink better ter do…
When yew’ve got inspiration (there’s a great word fer yew ter breave in!) then yew ain’t goin’ ter go far wrong… leastways, that’s wot Oi reckon.
Any’ow, inspiration is mostly jus’ deep breavin’. Oi’m breavin’ real deep…
Feelin’ pessimistic? Never mind, the improbable is likely ter ‘appen. Jus’ look at ol’ Dismal fer example…
Peter St John reckons promotin’ a book is loike playin’ a piccolo outside in an ‘urricane. Oi told ‘im ‘ee ought ter troi a tuba, but ‘ee didn’t seem ter appreciate it, poor lad.
An’ now, ssssh… ‘cos Oi’m goin’ ter whisper the next bit. Homo Sapiens ain’t ‘alf a noisy species. Huh?
That don’t apply ter me, o’course…
Oi’m goin’ ter get me one o’ them stars, even if it’s only a little’n…
Ev’ry one’s a spoke in the wheelin’ universe. But there ain’t no centre, an’ there ain’t no rim. Even so, some people believe that they’re the hub.
Why’re yew lookin’ at me loike that?
Oi’m allowed ter dream, ain’t Oi?
Mr Trundle’s the Station Master. ‘Ee’s also the special constable. ‘Ee’ loikes runnin’ around doin’ that.
But a man’s importance ain’t so much in ‘is goin’, as in ‘is bein’.
Grown ups are disappointed by their blinkered expectations (cripes, wot grown-up words Oi use sometimes!) an’ kids by wot they can’t make grown-ups see.
It ain’t always easy ter be a kid…
“Gang Spies” don’t exist: it’s just a lotta careless talk.
But yew won’t convince us kids…
Katy’s pretty good at first aid.
Morality don’t come jus’ from good intentions: Yew gotta practice wot yew intend; even if’n it ‘urts…
An’ then yew gotta get used ter it.
Ter be free, yew gotta always be fightin’ against persecution.
‘An’ ovver fings too…
Yeah… Queen Elizabeth I were auburn an’ all…
It’s true! It’s written! Yeah, an’ Oi know ‘oo wrote it..
So yew gotta be real careful wot yew believe, ‘cos it moight even be true…
Even so, it ain’t so much as wot’s true as causes trouble, but wot’s believed ter be true, but ain’t so…
If’n yew ain’t touched by wot yew do an’ by wot yew fink, then yew ain’t really livin’.
If yew ain’t never ‘ad a soap-box cart, yew can’t criticize them wot ‘as.
An’ Oi ain’t never been ter Akron neither…
Ter go forward, look ter the past.
The past is a base fer an ever-new beginnin’.
The future ain’t a list o’ political promises, it’s a whole programme wot comes from all around yew an’ goes inter yer dreams.
‘Ave faith in wot is uncertain, ‘cos nuffink ain’t really certain, not even termorrer. That’s certain…
Oi ain’t stubborn. An’ Oi’m goin’ ter keep on sayin’ so, till Peter St J says ‘ee’s sorry fer saying Oi am.
Jet-propelled Jenno
Peter St J says that wot ‘ee meant ter say, when ‘ee said Oi was stubborn, was that Oi’m resolutely tenacious; wot is a bit better. But ‘ee’d do well ter watch it; Oi’ve got moi eye on ‘im from now on…
Oi ain’t never goin’ ter stop questionin’ fings; there ain’t no question about that!
If’n yew can, jus’ check on ev’ry fing wot people tell yew: It’s safer. Take moi word fer it…
An’ Oi really loike the idea that it’s intelligent ter suspend judgement. About that Oi ain’t got no doubts at all…
Oi don’t let the grass grow under moi feet. No more shouldn’t yew; unless yew’re a livestock farmer.
Yew wanna change the world? Best ter begin wiv somefink wot’s close at ‘and, an’ feasible (wot a lovely word that is!). Yew could start by changin’ yerself…
Remember; ‘ope comes from within. There ain’t no ovver real expectation, ‘cos if’n yew expect it ter come from outside, yew might jus’ as well give up ‘opin’ roight away.
People are free ter believe an’ say any ol’ fing wot they loike. Oi s’pose that’s why they mostly do; ‘cept when someone tell’s ‘em they’re not to…
Nobody ain’t got no more wisdom than wot people fink they’ve got, an’ they ain’t got no more influence than wot people give ‘em. Take it from me…
Nuffink ain’t simple; nuffink ain’t easy; ‘cept ter be yerself. An’ even that’s ‘ard sometimes…
‘Appiness is gatherin’ tergevver enough confidence in yerself ter get over yer difficulties an’ do somefink worthwhile, wot yew really want ter do. D’yew ‘ear me Pearl?
Yew wanna keep cheerful? Then yew gotta fight against being discouraged. Yeah, it ain’t easy.
Oi gotta problem: Oi get asked ter endorse or support people an’ products wot Oi don’t know nuffink about, an’ cripes, it don’t seem quite ethical ter me. An’ any’ow, quantity ain’t quality. There’s only one of me any’ow. Wot d’yew reckon?
Besides, Oi don’t go around loudly soundin’-off about fings neither. Do Oi…?
Self-praise ain’t no recommendation. Cripes, the advertisin’ industry mus’ be tremblin’ in it’s little cotton socks… Any’ow, moi megaphone makes a noice flower pot. Trouble is, it don’t ‘old no water.
When yew unnerstan’ somefink, it’s because yew’ve brought some fings tergevver wot yew ‘adn’t never brought tergevver before. Yew know… loike wot Oi’m doin’ in this book.
Don’t never underestimate yer contribution, even if nuffink seems ter be a-changin’.
But yew don’t get much change fer a penny.
The best way ter keep yer mind open is ter listen when yer friend speaks.
Loyalty is listenin’ ter yer friends rabbitin’ on, an’ on, an’ on, even when they ain’t sayin’ anyfink wot is the least bit interestin’…
Sometoimes moi Mum does moi coiffure (ain’t that an elegant word? S’French o’ course) wiv a little braid each soide. Only trouble is, they get in the way o’ seein’ sideways when Oi’m soap-box racin’.
Love is lettin’ the ovver person go first.
Yeah, well, okay. But cripes, s’pose it’s me wot’s out in front?
Oi ain’t particularly good at bein’ stupid…
Any’ow, yew gotta live yer successes as well as yer failures; ain’t it so?
Oi’ve got a friend ‘oo reckons as ‘ow ter prepare, cook an’ eat anyfink real proper, yew gotta ‘ave luv an’ care. The same goes fer anyfink really; even carts. ‘Any’ow, that’s wot Oi reckon.
Oi reckon too as ‘ow dogma don’t need no intelligent thought; it jus’ needs authority ter lead, an’ them wot follow after. Bein’ dogmatic ain’t democratic.
Dogmatism (cripes, jus’ hark at me!) don’t do no good at all, an’ skepticism (Oi learned that one at school) ain’t no better. That’s dead certain; yew’d better believe wot Oi say, ‘cos it’s me wot says it.…
Science must doubt, or it ain’t science. Yeah, but mystery creeds are much more doubtful. Yew c’n choose... if’n yew want to, that is.
If’n yew don’t know somefink, it’s better ter admit it, than ter leap ter conclusions. Any’ow, that’s wot Oi conclude.
Yew’ve gotta fink loike me, ‘cos cripes, Oi’m tolerant!
Thank yew fer missin’ me. But cripes, it weren’t that bad, an’ Oi weren’t gone that long.
Oi’d better write this next one real quick before any more arrows come moi way:
There ain’t nobody in the whole vast universe, wot is more important fer yew, than wot yew are. If’n yew c’n get a-hold o’ that, real proper loike, whilst a-lookin’ straight in front o’ yew, an’ seein’ all around that it’s the same fer everybody else, then it follows that yew’re goin’ ter ‘ave good relationships.
Oi jus’ wish it were loike that fer all them ovvers in moi gang…
We lost some apostrophes in “Gang Territory”, so Oi’m a-scatterin’ a few so as Peter St John c’n follow where Oi’m a-goin’. Yeah, an’ ‘is editor too!
Apostrophes are loike baby frogs: they wriggle around an’ jump up in unexpected places. There’s a person (wot shall be nameless) wot reckons Oi’m an apostrophe; but that’s a calumny… ain’t it?
Peter St J’s got a link wot jus’ kinda fell outta the sky on ‘im. It’s http://www.freado.com/book11760/gang-territory Oi wouldn’t recommend goin’ there, that is, unless yew wanna see moi braids agen. They’re noice, ain’t they? Practical an’ all, when there’s a bit of a breeze.
Creation don’t never know wot it’ll produce by way of evolution: Jus’ look at moi braids…
Peter reckons ‘ee’ll always be moi friend, even wiv moi braids, ‘cos ‘ee knows too much about me… Yeah, that’s perfec’ friendship… ain’t it?
Christmas comes but once a year, an’ when it comes, it ain’t ‘alf dear. Leastways, that’s wot Peter St John reckons; but Oi don’t always ‘ave ter agree wiv ‘im, do Oi?
Yew gotta be ‘appy, loike at Christmas, an’ then spread that ‘appiness aroun’ ter everybody else… don’t yew fink?
We’ve ‘ad some more snow. P’raps the climate’s changin’; it’s gettin’ colder any’ow. That don’t matter too much, ‘cos Oi’m goin’off ter the Mountain Glide ter slide wiv the Gang…
Oi wouldn’t much mind if’n it were a bit warmer in the summer though…
Oi made a Christmas tree outta SilverWood Books’ logo. Oi only ‘ope they don’ mind…
Merry Christmas everybody! Oi ‘ope there’s lotsa real good fings in yer Christmas stockin’s. But if’n yew’ve only got an ‘ole… then darn it!
Ev’ry new take-off starts wiv yerself. So ‘appy New Year ter yew; an’ ‘appy landin’s…!
Oi reminded mesself a while back ter say somefink more terday, only now Oi ferget wot it were…
There ain’t nuffink more annoyin’ than ter not recall wot yew want ter remember: an’ there ain’t nuffink more irritatin’ than ter remember wot yew’d loike ter forget.
Oh yeah. Now Oi remember… ‘Appy take-off too!
S’no good in the snow wiv wheels, so Oi’ve fitted Emmeline P wiv runners. She makes a pretty good sled, don’t yew fink?
Trouble is, there ain’t no brakes…
It’s noice ter breathe in the fresh air. Inspiration is breavin’ in. It’s ‘ealthy, only don’ do it too quick or yew’ll likely choke. Expiration is somefink else agen. Oi don’t really recommend it, ‘cept in extremis…
We gotta lotta snow this winter. The Mountain Glide certainly ain’t loike the All-American Soap Box Derby at Akron, where there’s a noice little ‘ill… when yew got wheels.
An’ brakes!
Oi’m pretty successful at failin’…
It don’t feel noice ter be uncertain. Peter’s certain o’ that…
It ain’t so much wot yew know as causes trouble; it’s wot yew fink yew know but ain’t so…
An’ a whole heap o’ fings ain’t worf sayin’. An’ a whole lotta people don’t loike earin’ wot’s left. Cripes, wot a lotta silence that’d be!
‘Ave yew noticed lately? It’s a wunnerful world…
When yew look aroun’ wiv yer eyes real wide open, everyfink’s extraordinary. Leastways, that’s wot Oi reckon.
Oi loike ter be alone wiv meself sometimes ter get inspiration. Wanna come wiv me…?
John Jay’s got ‘is good points, but ‘ee ain’t wot yew’d call democratic, ‘specially when it comes ter girls. Even more ‘specially when it comes ter girls loike me…
Democracy ain’t never yet been seen ‘cos it ain’t a fact, it’s a whole programme. Get yer ‘ead round that J.J.
The trouble wiv democracy is that people don’t wanna be equal; they wanna be privileged. Yeah, me too…
Bein’ dogmatic ain’t democratic. Yew better believe it.
Jus’ ter show yew that Oi ain’t got nuffick (much) against boys, ‘ere’s a picture of some of ‘em from the Lions Avenue Lot racin’ down the Mountain Glide. ‘Corse it ain’t loike the All-American Soap Box Derby; it’s much, much, littler, but cripes it’s a whole lot more excitin’… Leastways, that’s wot Oi reckon.
This ‘ere’s Katy, wot lives down the Avenue near Peter; she’s in ‘is class at school an’ all. From ‘im she learned real good ‘ow ter play marbles, an’ that led ter some problems fer most everybody…
Katy’s dead keen ter race a soap-box cart. Trouble is, she ain’t got one, an’ ‘er mum’s a roight worrier; won’t let er out of Lions Avenue, ‘cept ter go ter school, an’ then she ‘as ter go straight ‘ome after. Ain’t life ‘ard sometimes? Still an’ all, Katy’s real noice: even Oi ain’t never ‘ad a row wiv ‘er...
Molly’s the prettiest gal in Widdlin’ton, reckons Dummy. Peter thinks so too, only ‘ee would, wouldn’t ‘ee, seein’ as ‘ow they share a double desk at school. Cripes, Oi ain’t got nuffink against Molly; she ain’t exac’ly ugly; me neither come ter that. Wot do yew reckon?
Oi really loike them silences between friends wot take the place o’ talkin’; ‘cos it ain’t wot’s said wot matters, but wot don’t need ter be said.
Peter’s aunt is a witch; only cripes, don’t tell ‘er Oi said so: Oi got enough trouble as it is…
Any’ow, this picture is Jus’ a little somefink fer Halloween. ‘Ope yew loike it.
A real friend really want’s ter know when askin’ ‘ow yew are.
Ter be a true friend, yew gotta listen, when yew’d rather be listened to…
A good friend laughs at yer jokes, even when they’re terrible, an’ listens ter yer problems, even when they ain’t partic’ly serious.
Molly ‘ere is a-changin’ the name of ‘er cart. But change ain’t the same fing as progress, ‘cos if’n it ain’t goin’ someplace,then change ain’t no progress, even if it’s scientifically technological.
Science c’n explain a lot. But there’s a whole lotta stuff wot it can’t explain, an’ won’t never.
Some people are so impressed by wot science can’t explain, that they fink it ain’t no good at all. That’s a real pity ‘cos it only shows ‘ow iggerant they are. Not loike me o’ course…
A scientific attitude is full o’ doubt. That’s certain.
Selena ain’t never seen no ghosts at the Old Vicarage, but then there ain’t nuffink at all wot we see real clearly, ‘cos everyfink ‘as got somefink a bit mysterious about it; even me…
The ‘ighest excellence wot you c’n possibly imagine can’t never exist wivvout it’s got somefink mysterious about it.
Some people ‘ave strong beliefs about mysterious fings. Fer mesself, Oi don’t fink it’s a good idea… There’s enough trouble already…
Even if’n yew got irons on yer legs, loike Tommy ‘ere, it don’t mean yew gotta stan’ still.
Yew c’n choose: either use yer initiative ter do somefink, or wait fer it ter ‘appen. But jus’ don’t yew forget: Initiative undermines destiny.
Cripes, listen ter me bein’ philosophic! Normally, Oi don’t recommend it, but this toime Oi took the initiative…
But when all’s said an’ done, ain’t philosophy a lovely word? It means love of wisdom. Yeah…
Because of the war, it ain’t only Guy Fawkes wot is put on the bonfire, Adolf ‘Itler is there too, an’ sometimes the Nazi propagandist (cripes, that’s a big word) Lord Haw Haw as well. Remember, remember, the fifth of November.
Yeah, not even ‘Itler didn’t succeed in blowin’ up Parliament neither…
It don’t matter so much wot yew fink as how yew fink it. But better ter get wot yew fink from wot yew know, rather than from wot yew believe. There’s a difference yew know…
“Is Guy Fawkes like garden forks?” asks Wikky.
But then, she’s only six.
Heebie Jeebie Phoebe Jackson ain’t no friend of Peter. She an’ ‘er mum, the postmistress, got Peter inter trouble wiv the law: ‘Ee ‘ad ter go up in front o’ the magistrate about it an’ all. Cripes, wot a barney that was. It were a real Gang Warfare; no kiddin’.
There ain’t no way yew c’n keep from misunderstandin’, them wot really don’t want ter understand.
An’ then, it’s real amazin’ ‘ow far some people will go, ter make themselves ridiculous wiv misunderstandin’. Oi jus’ ‘ope Oi ain’t one of ‘em…
Heebie-Jeebie Phoebe an’ me ain’t exactly wot yew’d call good friends. It were ‘er wot precipitated (ain’t that a lovely word? Oi ‘ope yew loike it too) the loyalty crisis in Widdlin’ton. O’ course, Peter St J don’t agree, but then ‘ee can’t ‘elp it… can ‘ee, the poor lad?
Someone wot ain’t yer friend no more, weren’t never no friend.
Cripes, did Oi ever ‘ave a problem getting’ that inter moi ‘ead. Now Oi’m friends wiv ev’rybody… mostly.
Can Oi ‘elp it if some people don’t see fings moi way?
If’n yew wanna know who yew are, yew gotta look in: if’n yew wanna be who yew are, yew gotta look out…!
When yew come roight down ter it, we’re all kinda mediocre; cripes, even me, just occasionally…
Any’ow, Oi know ‘oo Oi am; an’ it ain’t jus’ moi name. Wot about yew?
Peter’s aunt reckons Oi’m disreputable. Well, yew can’t ‘ardly blame ‘er, can yew?
Molly sorta tricked Peter, down in the air-raid shelter, inter makin’ a cart fer ‘er, wot ‘ee didn’t really want ter do. Any’ow, ‘ere’s a picture of wot Molly ‘ad ter start off wiv…
An’ below is ‘ow it finished:
Not bad, eh?
She don’t look it, ‘cos she’s kinda “glam”, but cripes, Reenie Brown, wiv er “Brown Buzzer”, is our soap-box racin’ champion, that is, before she joined the Women’s Royal Auxiliary Air Force. We ain’t ‘eard from ‘er since…
If’n yew loike soapbox racin’, ‘ere’s somefink fer yew wot Oi pinched from Peter St John, ‘cos it’s ‘im wot does the pictures fer the “Gang” books. Oi ain’t no good at drawin’ see, but when it comes ter soap-box racin’ yew won’t see me fer dust.
That’s Reenie out in front.
Peter an’ me went up ter Lunnon ter see the King. Cripes, wot a lark! We saw the Tower. This ‘ere’s a picture of it.
Peter an’ me met this bloke in front o’ Buckingham Palace. ’Ee didn’t want ter talk wiv us, but jus’ crashed ‘is rifle butt about. Then ‘ee marched off. Reckon ‘is boots must weigh a ton.
The really important thing in life is ter communicate, loike wiv broadcastin’. Even more important, is ter know when ter shut up…
Oi reckon it’s really good when a speaker and a listener conspire in solitude. Don’t yew?
We make a foine pair: Peter’s a successful failure, an’ Oi’m a failure at success, but a real friend ignores yer failures an’ accepts yer successes.
Peter’s got a new boiler. It goes wiv gas, so’s ‘ee c’n ‘ave ‘ot water fer ‘is barf. ‘Ee’s lucky; ‘cos at moi ‘ouse yew ‘ave ter ‘eat up the water wiv a fire under the copper wot is used fer washin’ the clothes. Still an’ all, the fire makes it noice an warm in the winter. Trouble is, yew ‘ave ter go out an’ collect the sticks fer the fire.
The new boiler’s workin’ real good. Peter’s takin’ a barf at last. Cripes, it’s about toime!
Mostly it’s good ter be in ‘ot water. But sometimes, it ain’t…
A whole lotta people feel alone an’ threatened in a world wot’s strange an’ ‘ard ter unnerstand…
Selena’s strange, but she ain’t so ‘ard ter unnerstand. Lotsa peole are the ovver way around. Not me o’ course…
D’yew know wot Oi fink? Oi reckon we’re all so much inter our own affairs (yeah, an’ that includes me) that we don’t really feel wiv the over person. ‘Appily, there are exceptions, but cripes, ain’t we at bottom a roight egocentric (wot a lovely word) lot? P’raps it’s fer the best…
Sidney “The Slug” Snaylor is from the Adare Road Gang, up near town. ‘Ee’s exac’ly ‘ow ‘ee looks, so best keep well away from ‘im… if’n yew can!
Peter St John reckons we’re becomin’ a one-armed species. But there ain’t ‘ardly no telephones in ‘is “Gang” books; ‘cept this kind.
This ‘ere’s the vicar. Oi ain’t goin’ ter say much about ‘im, ‘cos the least said, the better.
Later on, we got a new vicar wot we call “Funf”. Yew c’n see ‘is picture in a moment, if’n yew loike…
The new vicar is the Reverend Hans Vonvanderbildt. We call ‘im “Funf”. Not to ‘is face, o’ course. ‘Ee loikes birds; the kind wot ‘ave got fevvers. ‘Ee gives ‘em names in Latin, wot got ‘im all tied up once…
Don’t never say Oi din’t warn yew…
‘Cos Oi’m a skeptic wot don’t go in fer skepticism.
Time fer a new beginnin’…
‘Ave yew ever ‘ad a feelin’ that everyfink stops just outside Widdlin’ton? No, no more ain’t Oi…
Life is a deep, dark wishin’ well inter which Oi toss coins; but there ain’t ‘ardly never no splash…
Even so, if’n yew look real deep down at wot yew really want, yew’ll foind yer best ‘opes down there.
Oi reckon yew’ve probably ‘ad quite enough fer now of them pictures from Widdlin’ton, so Oi’m goin’ ter stop puttin’ them in, so’s Oi c’n give yew an old proverb, wot Oi’ve jus’ made up: A jumpin’ flea, is a bitin’ flea… Yeah, an’ Peter St John is a-scratchin’ loike crazy.
Yew c’n laugh, only it ain’t funny fer Peter: ‘ee needs both of ‘is ‘ands ter do more drawins’ wiv…
‘Appy endin’s are all very well, but not when they come along too often, ‘cos real life ain’t loike that. Real life is more loike a whole lotta points o’ suspension; don’t yew fink?
… … … … … … … … … … … …
Oi’m goin’ ter leave yew now in suspense, ‘cos there’s goin’ ter be more stuff added ter moi Widdlin’ton book; but not now… later on.
By the way, Oi'm on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/JennoBryce. Oi've also got a blog, http://jennospot.blogspot.com. P'raps Oi'll see yew.
Cheerio,
