“It occurred to a medical man some years ago that the uniform atmosphere of this cave might be a specific for consumption.

“Possessed with this theory, the doctor had a dozen small houses constructed in the cavern, about a mile or two from its mouth, and to these he conveyed his patients. From the appearance of these places of abode, the only wonder is that the poor invalids did not expire after twenty-four hours of residence in them. They, however, contrived to exist there about three months, most of them being carried out in extremis. The houses consisted of a single room, built of the rough stone of the cavern, – which, in this part, bears all the appearance of a stone-quarry, – and without one particle of comfort beyond a boarded floor, the small dwelling being constructed entirely on the model of a lock-up, or ‘stone-jug’. The cells of a modern prison are quite palatial in comparison with them. The darkness is such as might be felt; and it is impossible to realize what darkness actually is until experienced in some place where a ray of sunlight has never penetrated…

“The houses – or rather detached stone boxes – were so small that without vitiating the air only one person could remain in them at one time; so that, besides the darkness, – in case of any accident to their lamps, – these poor creatures must have endured utter solitude. Their food was brought from the hotel, two or three miles away, on the hill, and consequently must have been cold and comfortless. They were kept prisoners within their narrow cells, for the rough rocks and stones everywhere abounding rendered a promenade for invalids quite impracticable. The deprivation of sunlight, fresh air, and all the beauties of the earth must have been the direst punishment imaginable. No wonder these poor creatures were carried out one by one to die.

“The last one having become so weak that it was deemed unsafe to move him, his friends resolved to stay with him in the cavern till the last. What transpired is now beyond investigation. Whether some effect of light, which in this cavern has a most mysterious and awful appearance, or whether the death-bed was one of terrors, owing to some imp of mischief having laid a plan to ‘scare’ them, as they say in this country, is not known; but they rushed terror-stricken from the cave, and on reaching the hotel fell down insensible. Subsequently they declared they had seen spirits carrying away their friend. Mustering a strong force, the people from terra firma, with the guides and plenty of torches, sallied down to the lower and supposed infernal regions. The spirits, however, had fled, leaving nothing but the stiffening corpse of the poor consumptive. This ended all hope of the cavern as a cure for consumption.”

Thérèse Yelverton, In The Mammoth Cave, collected in With The World’s Great Travellers, Volume One, edited by Charles Morris and Oliver H G Leigh (1901)

Alas, it seems this must now serve as a posthumous tribute.

“It is true that he spoke our tongue incorrectly and in an anglicised way, like all those whose mouths are more accustomed to chewing anglo-saxon pebbles and to talking next to the sea.”

Jules Barbey D’Aurevilly, On Dandyism And George Brummell (1845), translation by George Walden (2002)

As promised, here is the second batch of teenpersons’ meditations upon Hooting Yard:

To Knit Knots, Peradventure

This story, To knit knots, peradventure, is probably aimed to be a funny piece of writing, and if read aloud, a tongue twister. The story is though, rather repetitive and after reading the first two paragraphs it starts to become all about the same thing; knitting a knot without being caught/seen by a hurrying brute. This piece is repetitive but is in no way boring; the many ways to knit a knot and not get caught by a hurrying brute is probably mostly but not completely nonsense, such as “Thus the knitter of knots is advised, in many books of the past, to find a secluded haven in which to knit”. Honestly if I were the knot knitter, I would have given up after the numerous attempts of knitting a knot without getting caught by a hurrying brute. The narrator doesn’t seem to describe each character much, though in a way it doesn’t really matter to the piece at hand. From what is given we cannot make out who (or possibly what) the knot knitter is, only that he/she is knitting a knot of value, or I doubt a brute would trying to get his/her/its hands on it.

This is a very descriptive piece including many words that may not be understood by children; words such as deftness, paragons and obviating. I think that this story was based on a ridiculous idea, and that would never happen, even though the actual writing is a creative piece and funny to read.

The main character is either the knitter of the knot or the hurrying brute, the knot knitter in this story is advised to do many a thing before he starts to knit a knot. The hurrying brute is the reason for the many reasons why you need to find a secluded haven such as a cave, behind ramparts or a towering fortress. The way the author talks is in some way appropriate for the story, as the knot knitter is trying to get away from the hurrying brute to find a place to knit. Although in the real world I doubt a hurrying brute would try to stop you from knitting a knot in the first place, and I wonder if there even such thing as a hurrying brute. Even though the knot knitter is hurrying through what seems to be a forest (full of hurrying brutes), he seems remarkably calm even if a brute is chasing him.

The books of the past (read before being chased by a hurrying brute) refer to the somewhat troublesome task of knitting a knot of peculiar knitting styles. Therefore the safe house in which you confine must be particularly safe and secure so as you may not be bothered with the hurrying brute. The only real problem when knitting a simple knot is when the brutes come in swarms, then the knot knitter is advised to abandon the knitting of his knot and run, even if the knot you are knitting is of particular value. If being chased by a swarm of hurrying brutes then the knot (if particularly prepared in their work) to have a missile at hand so to distract knitter is advised the hurrying brute, and so is able to find another rampart or clump of brambles to continue their knot knitting.

To Knit Knots, Peradventure

The tone of this piece is rather unusual and bizarre, and not something that you’d normally be reading in a story. It has some rather odd language, for example ‘It remains the case that the knitted knots has its own special place in our hearts, whether our hearts flutter like a bird’s or a squirrel’s heart, or pound like a drum’. I don’t understand the point of including information on a squirrel’s heart, as nobody knows (or even thinks about) why or how a squirrel’s heart beats. It goes off of the point a lot of the time (and some of the time I don’t know what the point is anyway!). Knot knitters do not exist so there is no point. I think this is just a comedy piece of writing and is written just for the laughter of others.

There aren’t any main characters; the story just generally talks about knot knitters and Brutes hurrying by and saying that hurrying brutes can never have the time and patience of a knot knitter. Brutes don’t exist in our world which is why this story is more a comedy sketch than fact and fiction.

Imitation

People don’t understand the experience and challenging expertise needed to become a knot knitter, but all of those people are hurrying brutes ignoring the precision used by the knot knitters needing peace and quiet to knit their knots in a very secluded environment. A plethora of noise is made by the hurrying brute which agitates the civic knot knitters that try to accumulate on the knot they are knitting.

That Awful Mess At Sludge Hall Farm

I feel that the story of “That Awful Mess at Sludge Hall Farm” is an odd and imaginative creation. For example “No-one knows the name of the farmer of Sludge Hall Farm. He is a hermit and a mystic and a pole-vaulting champion.” And as well as this, the story is peculiar and a bit out-of-the-box in the way that it mentions things that nobody would normally think of or about. For example “the farmer still pole-vaults every day, morning and evening, under the leaden sky at Sludge Hall Farm. He is puffing from a pole-vault as the Italian detectives push open the gate and greet him.”

I think this story is weird because it often strays from the point as this example shows, “One does not meet with a trio of stylishly dressed Italian police investigators tramping up the path to Sludge Hall Farm. In their Giuseppe Fonseca suits and Boffo Splendido shoes.” It has a bit of a magical feel as if things were very peculiar at Sludge Hall Farm as the farmer is a “mystic, a hermit and a pole-vaulting champion” and the story sometimes talks about the farm as if it is magical. For example, “One wonders what will happen. Will the farmer of Sludge Hall Farm speak for the first time in twenty years? Will he use his mystic powers to crack asunder the close-knit and almost telepathic team spirit of the detective trio, until they are snarling at each other like mad dogs and fighting with pitchforks?” and “Will the farmer placate his mutant pig and place it in a trance? Why is the hay in the hayloft not like normal hay? Is it hay from another dimension, or from somewhere else in the space-time continuum?” I think this is funny because most stories now include things from dungeons or mars like the monster from mars but this story uses a hayloft and the hay inside it with a mutant pig as the monsters.

I also think that the feel of the story is a sort of satire of what things are and what some things are becoming. Maybe for instance the hay in the hayloft could be a satire on what farming is turning into, the use of chemicals to create food that is now very different and much fuller of chemicals than it was 100 years ago. And the mutant pig that has snapped its chain could be a satire on guard dogs and the fact that they are getting more and more aggressive as their owners are getting more and more inhumane.

Hoofprint Advice

The feel of this piece of writing is amusing and strange, ‘If on the other hand, the hoofprints are still there, clamber on to a step ladder and try to obliterate them with a rag and a proprietary cleansing spray such as Hoofbegone!’. This part of the guide starts off and if sounds normal and then you get to the spray what is called ‘Hoofbegone’ and you think that it’s a tad strange because the name of the cleaning product is a bit odd because you have never thought of a product called something like that before.

The advice that the writing gives you is funny but serious, it is funny because the things it is telling you to do are amusing such as, ‘Try to recall any dreams you may have had while you were asleep. Did any hooved beasts, such as goats or horses, feature in these dreams?’ but then at the same time it is serious because if you do wake up with hoofprints on your ceiling, it’s a serious matter and you would follow this guide. When you start to read this you start to think how weird it is, and you think it is sarcastic because you don’t normally think you are going to wake up and there are going to be hoofprints on your ceiling, but then after you read the first paragraph you get hooked to the guide and don’t want it to stop.

There are no main characters as such in this writing. It is a guide so the author is aiming it at the people who wake up one morning and find hoofprints on their ceiling. It is written in first person so the author is telling the story. Nowadays we get step-by-step guides, such as ‘how to get a wasp’s nest out of your loft’ or ‘how to put a washing line up’. But if you saw this guide you would be amazed because you wouldn’t think you would see hoofprints on your ceiling, also if you saw this guide you wouldn’t believe that it would actually happen, many thoughts about the matter would be going through your head and it would be a serious matter. Also if you did have hoofprints on your ceiling you wouldn’t expect to go out to the supermarket or some sort of shop and expect to find a guide of what to do in that situation.

Extension

If you do wake up and there are hoofprints on your ceiling and you have already been and seen the local nocturnal hoofprint investigation specialist, ask the woman at the reception of the office for ‘The Potion’ and make sure you do anything to get that unique potion this special drink form of a potion will make you turn upside down, when you have got the drink go back to your room and gulp the drink down and then take a quick stroll across the ceiling and follow the hoofprints until you find out who or what has done this. If the trail goes on and on and you potion has run out, go back to the local hoofprint investigation office and tell the same woman at the desk that the potion wore off and that first, you would like a refund and second that you need the papers to sue the specialist, if the woman refuses to give you the papers just ask for a emergency appointment with the local nocturnal hoofprint investigation specialist again.

The Muscular Fool And The Other Fool

The story comes across as being quite a funny story as it is about a ‘fool’. It starts off with the line ‘a fool dug a hole in the ground with a spade’; I think this a strange beginning but it does make you want to read on.

The person in this story immediately comes across as being quite stupid as the first thing he does is dig a hole and sit in it. The author of this book is clearly quite strange like the character. The character throughout does many strange things such as above dig a hole just to sit in and then go in an escalator just going up and down all day being fascinated by them.

I spent 20 minutes on this piece of work.

Confessions Of A Door To Door Monkey Salesman

This story is a ‘Bildungsroman of fierce intensity’, as it says at the beginning, because it follows the development and maturing of the lead character. I found this story very odd because it was about an orphan, adopted by some pig farmers, who was taken under the wing of a ‘countryside rascal’ to become a door to door monkey salesman after his adoptive parents perished in the ‘Munich air disaster’. As you can see here the plot is extremely bizarre and the world in which the story is written is mostly the same as ours but with small differences, for example: door to door monkey salesmen and ‘rascals’ which the main character searches for.

This story in also written in an interesting way, which is: one paragraph is written in the main characters point of view and then the next is written in the narrator’s point of view, reviewing what is happening in the story. The story takes a strange idea and imbeds it into our world, making the concept of a door to door monkey salesman not as strange an idea as first thought.

The story is written in first person; however, the writer describes you remembering yourself as a young child being very strange and irregular, ‘with your two thumbs, seven fingers and eleven toes’. Two thumbs in human terms is clearly very regular but the mother, whom is speaking to you at this point, goes on to talk about your ‘irregularity’ and says, ‘and you, my cherished tiny one, are one freakish anomaly,’

Another character is the ‘monkey rascal’, who is an old and is a man. It describes him as old when he says ‘and theses old bones of mine aren’t getting any younger.’ You can tell that the person is a man when the main character says ‘pausing now and then to sip his cocoa,’

Imitation:

I found myself one day walking down the cobbled street toward the house in which the man asking for monkey rental lives. It was an intriguing house made from the bricks of the dilapidated old habitation which once stood before it. The monkeys strolled behind me in tow not making a sound as they edged closer to the eerie setting. I must have looked very off-putting with my severe disfigurement and primates following along after me and so the townsfolk veered away from me as I ambled down the road. The man did not seem to be a rascal when I encountered him at his doorstep and confronted me with several monkeys behind him himself, he then said,

‘You are the monkey salesman.’ With that I replied I was and handed over the monkey to him. However, he rejected the monkey and told me to wait for him to retrieve something from his dwelling before accepting the animal …

This paragraph would be slotted into the story after he has been introduced to the monkey rascal and is on his debut monkey sale.

Character Flaw Of Mediaeval Peasant

I feel that the tone of this piece of writing is meant to be comical. This is because of certain lines in it, for example, ‘I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be. I don’t even know who Prince Hamlet is, or was, or will be, and I was always meant to be a peasant.’ The reason I think this line is comical, is because it is from TS Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, which means the character has obviously heard this line from somewhere, but doesn’t really know what it means, and is just trying to sound clever. ‘‘’Twas writ upon the stars.’ This line really does make the peasant sound stupid because he can’t speak properly and the line should say, ’Twas written upon the stars, and yet again I don’t think he knows what he is talking about. There for I feel the peasant is trying to sound clever, when he is just making himself sound stupid.

The character in the story is a mediaeval peasant called Cleothgard, who is trying to explain his character flaw, across the centuries. He tries to sound clever because he thinks people will think more of him but in fact he just sounds stupid. In the story he explains that his character flaw is, whenever a baron is approaching him he feels the need to out do all the people around him, by showing his appreciation, he says ‘A goodly number of them will tug their forelocks and dribble with happiness at the sight of him, but I feel this urge to outdo them. That is my character flaw.’

I think I am the only person with my character flaw. It is strange to have this character flaw but then everyone does have a character flaw. The thing is I try to outdo everyone but I really just act so stupid no one notices me. Yet I want people to notice me. I mean I don’t mean to do what I do and I try to stop myself, but somehow I just can’t. I have this uncontrollable urge to, whenever a baron is coming, to fall flat on face and bury my head in the mud.

Impugned By A Peasant

My story is very strange and quite light hearted; the main character gets obsessed with a peasant who insulted him. I also think the story is about bullying because lots of people insult him and he says ‘I would have welcomed death’.

My paragraph

I have been impugned, many times a day, by the peasant with the greasy, matted hair. He calls me all the names under the sun. None of them are nice. I have become accustom to this impugning every day, until my peasant went away. I looked for him so I could impugn him, but he was gone, never to be seen again. I asked where he had gone but no-one seemed to know, was he going fast, slow, did he have greasy hair and horrid teeth. Was he dirty?

When I arrived home I started to build a peasant to impugn me; I started to build him from cardboard and wire mesh, a mechanical peasant to impugn me daily. I can still imagine the peasant, perfectly in my head, his greasy hair and horrid teeth.

Bungled Heists

The story sounds like it has been written for children in the way that the writer has described what happened. He has written the first part of the story about stealing bird seed, which isn’t like drugs or electricals. He also writes that he thumped the truck driver; instead he could have written that he stabbed him or held a gun to his head. This gives it the feeling of more of a children’s story about a post office robbery than an adult crime thriller.

There are only three people in the story who are named and only two of them appear more than once in it. These three are Blodgett, Detective Captain Cargpan and Mrs Gubbins. Blodgett is the main character in the story and it all revolves around him. He appears to be quite a clumsy man but is very well-built. He is a man that gets involved with heists and always manages to ruin it by not being observant, getting distracted or just acting a fool. Detective Captain Cargpan is not described in this story and only appears briefly in it, this is the same with Mrs Gubbins.

Seventh Heist. By now, Blodgett’s next heist has been widely publicised because of the report that the weekly heist intelligencer had in its last issue. The heist is supposed to take place in a well-known seaside resort by a very dangerous gang who is thought to have purchased a small amount of explosives. Because of this gang’s history of murder and manslaughter, the police have been called to surround the area.

Along The Banks Of The Smem

I think the story is written in a serious way which made it quite funny. The man in the story is telling us about all his illnesses and accidents that he has had. I had to read this a few times to understand it properly because it is full of complex sentences and unusual language for instance, “the mountain, disgorging a miscellaneous collection of people.” The author does not put a very nice picture in my mind when they are talking about the Smem. The name ‘Smem’ makes it sound grotty and like an unpleasant place to visit. This is a clever topic because everyone can relate to being ill but it seems strange how he is always ill. It is quite long with lots of sudden flash backs to make the story more clear.

The main character is a man who had gone away to a place along the banks of the Smem a river. He seems to be reminiscing and telling us all about his life during the story. You never find out his name or much about him apart from storeys about his health. He is prone to hearting himself and has a very bad relationship with goat’s milk, he thinks it’s not safe and is very unhygienic. His illnesses are very unusual like when he says he had “leasio in testiculo” a type of disease in his testicles. This shows us how hard his life must have been. He has a peg-leg and he talks a bit about his religious hysteria which is quite intriguing.

Extension

When I was age eleven I twisted my spine in a boating accident. This was a huge shock to the system and took three months of physiotherapy to sort out. For two years I had a very strained Adams apple and a cracked nose. In the summer of 2004 I hade the most horrific illness that insisted on me waking up at 12 o’clock every night to be violently sick at least 4 times. I was later in danger of my guttural speech going and never returning. Now standing on the banks of the Smem I wonder if I was just handed a bad card in life and if I was really destined for greatness.

“Frivolity – The maddening name which is given to a whole series of preoccupations that are really entirely legitimate, corresponding as they do to real needs.”

Footnote in On Dandyism And George Brummell by Jules Barbey D’Aurevilly (1845), translation by George Walden (2002)

I am delighted to report that there is a school in this land, or perhaps in another land, where a pedagogue uses Impugned By A Peasant & Other Stories as a teaching text. A class of young teenpersons was supplied with tales from the book and asked to provide a brief introduction and an additional paragraph as an imitation or extension of the prose. My understanding is that their work was intended to be read aloud, rather than as finished pieces of writing. Herewith some of their contributions. A second selection will follow. [N.B. sic throughout.]

Woodcutter

The characters consist of The Woodcutter, The Charcoal burner, The Popinjay, and the Creatures of The Wood.

The story is about a woodcutter. This woodcutter has a “burning sense of injustice” and doesn’t like talking to people or letting them visit. He has hatched a plan to take over the forest by training some forest creatures which he had stolen from a nest of a forest being matriarch. And taking over the forest. While the charcoal burner and the popinjay have a plan to get back at the woodcutter. But they are all oblivious of the fact that the eggs are hatching below them in the cellar. And the woodcutter also doesn’t know that the creatures, (who can grow to the size of trees) cannot be trained.

The tone is rather descriptive, especially of the creature. “Creaky and crumpled and covered in hoar frost” or “can grow to the size of trees.” From the extract, it also makes the story sound like the creatures are going to kill the woodcutter, the popinjay, and the charcoal burner. Although from the extract I don’t know what will happen to them. But again, the tone is rather suggestive that there is no hope for the other creatures in the wood and the strange forest beings are going to destroy everything.

Although the story sounds rather dark and makes the future look gloomy, the title is called “The Woodcutter” so I would imagine he has a further part to play yet. Personally. I think this would be and interesting and enjoyable to read. And I think I would probably buy this book. Although I found it hard to grasp the whole idea of the storyline at first, after reading it through a couple more times I began to grasp the idea of it.

A Trip From Throm To Bosis

The “Lord”, described in paragraphs 2 and 3, was often mistaken as the “God of the Christians,” but in fact he was a native of Throm, and is thought to have dug the “very first shaft of what was to become the fantastic sewage system.”

Clothgard, a Bosisite of the highest peasantry, the very person who was entrusted with the Lord’s sack full of all the insects in the world. She is instructed to “take this sack and throw it into the sea.”

The tone is very inflated, with this small event, the meeting between the Lord and Clothgard, being exaggerated to make it seem as if it was some spectacular event which changed the course of history. This whole event is summed up by the sentence at the beginning of the fifth paragraph “Thus is the close link between Throm and Bosis explained.” The close in that extract is the word which led me to this conclusion, because without it, this phrase could mean anything from extremely close link to a weak link between these two places.

Imitation:

But this was not the end of this tale, for the Lord had many adventures in the lands in and around Throm. One day a small man of whom if any smaller, would be classified as a dwarf. His beard was followed by a swarm of flies, which acted as a shroud that covered his jaw and mouth. His hair appeared to contain red mud of the highlands of which Throm and Bosis were first erected. His clothes were no more than rags draped over his small, bony frame. His skin was pale, with flecks of mud and horse faeces. His voice was surprisingly deep for meagre height.

Advice Regarding Vinegar

I think the tone of this piece is comical. The story itself is based on a strange subject but written in a very serious way which, I think, is what makes it so outrageous and indeed so funny. ‘When the cows come home they may be disconcerted to find you in their meadow, with your tilted head, and some of them may become fractious.’ This is a good example of the strange topic and serious feel that the author has given and as a result has created something that is so funny.

The whole piece revolves around how to deal with the certain problems which arise when one is having an acolyte pour vinegar into one’s ear. However, the reasons or benefits of having this done are never actually explained.

It is not totally uncommon for the acolyte to miss your ear, resulting in too little or none of the vinegar actually entering the ear. Should this happen, it is advisable for you to return home having the other acolytes carry both you and the vinegar-pouring acolyte, as he may be in such a state that he is unable to walk himself. Actively choosing to stay in the field may be dangerous to you and to the cows, if they did decide to come home, as the vinegar-pouring acolyte may become so distressed that he may begin to scream. For anyone who has never heard a vinegar-pouring acolyte scream, it is a bit like a cross between nails being scraped down a black board and the spine-tingling sound of cotton wool as it is pulled apart, but a thousand times louder. I do not wish this experience upon anyone, not even my worst enemy.

While you are in the cows’ field, led on your side, with your head tilted and an acolyte is pouring vinegar into your ear, you may wonder why. This is a perfectly reasonable thing to wonder, after all, you are led in a field, on your side while an acolyte is pouring vinegar in your ear. The only problem being, there will be nobody with you who is able to answer this question, except possibly the cows if they did decide to come home and even if they did, I wouldn’t imagine they would be able to answer this question. Let’s face it; there is nothing worse than going to huge amounts of efforts such as the effort of arranging this whole process and then wondering why on earth you did it and what benefits you will receive; so I will tell you.

Upon entering the ear, the vinegar travels along the ear canal and coats the ear drum. This will result in the sweet sound of ant’s feet pattering ever so gently over a sticky surface but louder, as if they are actually in your ear. Of course, this is because they are in your ear. They would have been attracted by the scent of the vinegar and gather in their hundreds there.

If you are not careful, this could lead to other small bugs being attracted, and then spiders, and then small birds, and then cats, and dogs, and so on. To prevent this, I would recommend ear muffs, or even better, an old piece of net curtain stapled to the outside of your ear.

Binder: The 49 Symphonies

This piece of writing, in my opinion, could be called a poem or a story. It is set out like a story in the way that one sentence follows another but it could be described like a poem because there is repetition of the numbers in almost every sentence and when I read this it was easier to read than the normal tone of writing of a story.

It is about a man called Binder and his 49 symphonies. Most of it contains a list of the symphonies with each one being described a little. Binder’s character is rather odd based on what his symphonies contain. For example symphony number seventeen ends with the cracking of a plank. This is strange because the cracking of a plank is not usually associated with symphonies or music.

This poem is comical because it is strange. It manages to put sentences next to each other that don’t link but at the same time being funny. For example ‘The twenty-second has to be heard through a hat with flaps. The twenty-third is obstinate, like a mule.

Disfigured Nuncio

The tone of this piece of writing is serious yet it has a very distinctive flavour; it is funny but supremely bizarre. It expects you to understand precisely what it’s talking about: “So when, on that blistering Thursday at the dog-end of August, my factotae announced that a nuncio had come to see me,” but I mainly didn’t. The author writes this piece as the narrator; it is strange to a reader like me because it uses a wide range of vocabulary that is either foreign words or just words that are hardly ever used in my dialogue.

The characters in the piece range from a disfigured nuncio to the narrator’s dad, who emptied his bank account “and fled to Uruguay with his floozie.” The narrator of the story doesn’t trust anybody, after what his dad did, and when the nuncio comes to him he is rather quick to make the assumption that this nuncio would be “of the Papal sort”, which, at the time, made no sense to me, it only made sense after I had finished the story and I had put two and two together. The range of characters is vast, something I have been told never to do when writing a story, keep it simple, as I was always told. But this writer breaks this rule, as the story gets stranger by the paragraph.

The world in the story I read, is rather strange; it includes strange people who carry messages to each other, which shows a lack in technology, unlike our world. The place the story is set, I believe it is Rome, is very religious. The narrator talks about his practising religion and his thoughts on the nuncio’s religion.

A paragraph I have written to slip into the story somewhere:

I first met Ned, Ned and Ned when I was exploring the possibility of hiring a top-of-the range factotae, I didn’t know what to expect, as the human race outside of my own four walls are a weird lot, they are corrupt and evil, and spending time with them is like a trip to the waxing parlour. I visited a “visitor’s centre” in the vague hope of finding somebody on my wavelength, but three strange men waddled up to me and I knew they were the ones, I named them Ned, all of them. My three little factotums fill me with the heavenly joy that all semi-human beings deserve; their miserable faces, ruffed-up clothing and long forgotten feelings just fill me with glee.

Impugned By A Peasant

The tone of this piece of writing seems sarcastically serious, as it describes what is happening in great detail, but with words not normally used by the average person. For example, it uses impugned, invective, and argot, all of which are not used on a day to day basis by most people. The subject is quite different from most books which makes it compelling to read, as it is unexpected. For example, during the piece is the sentence “Would my peasant still be there? Would he impugn me again?”. Another interesting point to make would be that the time in which this is set is rather confused. This is shown because the man in the story is wearing a cravat, something normally associated with the sixteenth to seventeenth centuries, and he has a bouffant, a hair style that was very popular in the eighteenth century. He also however talks about the book Death in Venice which was written in 1912, and Love And Death On Long Island, which was written in 1990. This makes me think that either this person is living in a parallel world in which the timings of these particular things collide, or he is simply very old fashioned in his style of dress.

The main character in the story has been written to speak in a way that people do not normally speak. He also seems very self obsessed, as he likes to “primp his bouffant, and modify his trudge to a flouncing prance”. This is odd as he becomes so engrossed with the peasant who is so filthy and ancient. That is the twist is the story, the way in which he is different from the average human being. I think that however great he thinks he is he still isn’t pleased with himself. For example, after being impugned by the peasant, he says that he is a milksop (a timid and indecisive person), and a weakling. At the end of this story our character tells us about a model that he built of this peasant. This is a bizarre twist, because why would you want to remind yourself in so much detail of a time which was very humiliating? I believe that he does this because he wants to remember that day exactly as it was. He wants to remember becoming so obsessed with something so different from himself.

The very next day, after meeting my peasant, I returned to see if had come back to inhabit his fence, or if would simply be those impossibly attractive youngsters. As I approached, my mouth dry with unwanted anticipation, I found myself almost praying for his presence. His filthy clothes and hair almost seemed attractive as I saw him in my minds eye, walking between those aspens and larches.

Chucking Out Time At The Cow And Pins

I read through “Chucking Out Time At The Cow And Pins” with little difficulty, except for a few unknown words. E.g. salubrious. The feel of the story is satirical and shows the way that pubs change under new “management”. The story starts off by describing the pub as it was; this is very brief. The story then continues to describe its current owner Babinsky. He was an ex-customer who now operates the pub due to the fact that the killed the old owner “chopping up the existing incumbent with an axe and feeding him to the pigs”. He is also described as being “psychopathic”.

The second chapter shows the way that the pub itself changes under new management; it’s primarily bad changes. Babinsky starts with the decorations, the “showbiz memorabilia” which are all taken down and replaced with psychotic scribblings. This is being satirical by talking about the way that pubs change the traditional decor into what some would describe as “modern tat” After describing this Key continues with the jukebox. It shows the way that Babinsky smashes the jukebox with his axe and changes its output to the screams of hell. This is satirical of the way that pubs change their music into newer things for good or for worse… it continues along these lines. From the way that pubs change from their usual brew into a new modern “bilge”.

Input

Upstairs, Babinsky took his axe and smashed all of the beds and chairs and nailed the pieces together in a huge, twisted totem, upon which he would carve a chunk out for every person he killed. And would hammer in another nail for every night that he survived the rounds of the

From Wivenhoe to Cuxhaven By Way Of Ponders End

This is one of the short stories written by Frank Key. This story was odd; the storyline was not completely told which left you confused to why the main character had to get to Cuxhaven and the subject changed randomly, for example ‘Should the bees in Cuxhaven have at me with their stings. I hoped they would not, for I resolve not to take their honey. In Cuxhaven, I had sausages.’

Key uses unusual language for everyday objects; this makes the story harder to understand, but it also makes it more interesting, for example ‘Other than the sea crossing, for which I commandeered the skiff and its skiffer.’ This adds character to the story. The story also concentrates on things that people normally find completely irrelevant, for example ‘When it was humid my goggles steamed up. I carried on walking, as if in a mist.’

Key also uses the towns Wivenhoe and Cuxhaven. I think that he chose these places because they both have large names with complicated sounds; also these places are not very well know so they could be invented by the author. It is only when you research these towns that you realise how far away they really are; Wivenhoe is in Essex and Cuxhaven is in north Germany.

This story was based on one character and his journey from Wivenhoe to Cuxhaven. He seems to be very odd, carrying a bicycle pump to blow away midges and a wooden god to beseech whenever his goggles steam up.

Imitation:

I had paid the skiffer an extra pouch of honey to skiff me faster. He was so easily persuaded; the honey that I had kept aside had clearly done me a large amount of good. Once the skiffer had skiffed me across the sea I hurried towards Cuxhaven. I had no time to take in the sights of my travels for I had to get to Cuxhaven in time. Instead I fantasised about the things that awaited me in Cuxhaven; the sights, the people and the sausages. I’d never been so excited in my life.

With My Fife and My Drum

When I first read this story I found it imaginative, “I was happy in the hills until I was attacked by a flock of putti”, but still realistic at the same time, “I took shelter in a recently-vacated bivouac”. I think that it is aimed to be an interesting folk story because it shows how you can be rewarded and it contains parts that are like folk stories, “with my fife and my drum I wandered in the hills”. I could see it being passed down traditionally through word of mouth, through many generations. This story is very interesting and to my surprise, it was very gripping. When I first saw the title I thought that it would be a boring and diary styled piece but in fact it was very well written. This story is based upon the real world, “I was wondering in the hills, for I had been banished from town”, but it still contains parts where it is completely unreal, “I was attacked by a flock of putti.”

The main character is calm, “I accepted this and wandered into the hills,” and he/she seems to be reasonably annoying and talkative, “It was an actual line”. He/She narrates in a chatty tone, “I am as happy as a sandboy, although I am not entirely sure what a sandboy is”, and I like the way that the author has kept the main character private so that you can imagine how they look but at the same time have given you characteristics and the attitude of this character. This is a good balance between your own imagination and views and how the author is conveying the feel of the character, this then influences the feel/tone of the story. Without the characters annoying tone the story would be uninteresting and repetitive. This character also seems intelligent or at least they think that they are, “You should always take care, in the hills, when occupying a vacant bivouac”, and he/she uses some complex words, “such ogres are averse to a din”, this adds to the feel of the character. The only other individual character in the story is the well educated and successful but grumpy, Horst Gack. This character is a German film director who the main character speaks of very highly, “presiding genius of the cinema of Belligerence,” but at the same time the main character seems slightly surprised and shocked at the attitude of this film director “given his grim demeanour”.

Extension

At the film festival in Ülm, I saw Horst glide down the steps of his flashy private jet; I waved to my acquaintance but through the crowds of paparazzi I was hardly visible. I suddenly found myself feeling small and unimportant to anyone, except my mother, who to everyone’s surprise was fussing over me like a bee collecting pollen! Yet on the flight she had truly embarrassed herself in front of the apparent “strapping young steward” by talking to him about her brand new florist shop and the Rose’s tournament in the summer, which I had already heard about. Still, she seemed not to care, yet the steward looked at me with utter fear that he would never escape the rambling on from my mother.

Gravediggers’ Glade

It is unbelievable, it is not a magical story, it is not a religious story but it is almost historical and very repetitive. I say almost historical because it would not really happen. If the gravediggers came form far away every night then that would be pointless, they’d have no time for their families or tending to their donkeys so that the donkeys would be ready for the next days work. It, also, is almost historical because it is not a historical story like “The life of the Tudors” but it shows what gravediggers used to do after work, yeah right! The historical side of it is that the writer says “there used to be” (a gravediggers’ glade). It is in the past tense. It is very well written in the sense that it uses tremendous vocabulary. Mr Key says words like trudge instead of walk or venture or journey and pannier instead of fixed baskets or boxes and wending where I would use winding or long and twisting.

The characters are all gravediggers, hence the name of the piece of writing. Line 7 suggests that some of the diggers, coming from far away, are almost “Christlike”. Donkeys are mentioned, a very little amount. It mentions Christ a lot on the first page, only in reference. The story also mentions Thomas Hardy, it says “Thomas Hardy wrote about such things”, referring to the sentence before that which was talking about “peasants lolling about and tilling their crops and patches”.

It is very much detailed and structured. For example he does not just say that they lean their spades against the trees, he says “leaning their spades against the larches, laburnums and sycamores”. He uses specification and says the names instead of colours or relating objects. The feel is almost boring because I don’t care about a gravediggers meeting place from many years ago. Nothing exciting happens in it. It is simply an explanation of a journey that is not likely to ever happen.

Potter’s Arch or Potter’s Crank?

This story is about the arch of a bridge. Under this bridge is the only way to get down to the train station and it is the tobogganist’s favourite hill. The title is very obscure and misleading “People walk down the hill but if you crash into the pillar of the arch, you will never be found.” This is what the story is about and is repetitive but serious.

The station officers are very strange characters and are mysterious. The reader doesn’t get very much detail about them. They seen very accounted to their job, and don’t worry about anyone else who might have nearly made it to the train station but they crashed into the arch, and even when you are expected to be at the train station, they wont come looking for you. This is odd because we generally we think that we should help other people in need. You know nothing about the tobogganist, except they toboggan

Imitation

When the passengers do get down the hill, they usually find out that the train is delayed and they will have to wait, in the poor company of the officials in the hut if your lucky, but outside if your not. This treatment is expected everywhere on the north line track.

It has come to my attention that several readers think Saint Poppo, he of the radiating lance, is a figment of my imagination. I am, apparently, given to dubbing fictional characters with names not dissimilar to “Poppo” – one is reminded, perhaps, of Signor Ploppo, who had a dramatic conversation with a bird called Ambrose.

While I emit an equally dramatic sigh, may I point out, yet again, with some exasperation, that the content of this website, and of the allied Hooting Yard podcast, is almost entirely factual, based as it is on exhaustive research? It is true that occasionally I might make something up from a sense of mischief, or embroider certain facts to add a tad of piquancy or grit, but generally speaking, what you have here is straightforward reportage. This planet of ours is a very odd orb, you know.

Just in case there remain some doubting Thomases, I reproduce below a tremendous photograph of a fully poseable toy action figure of Poppo. You will find some accompanying text here. Please remember to pray for Poppo’s intercession should you be dropsical.

The penultimate essay in Sabine Baring-Gould’s 1869 collection Curiosities Of Olden Times is entitled “Sortes Sacrae”, wherein we find this:

“It is not an uncommon case, now-a-days, for pious persons at times of great perplexity, to seek a solution to their difficulties in their Bibles, opening the book at random and taking the first passage which occurs as a direct message to them from the Almighty…

“The 11th chapter of Proverbs, which contains thirty-one verses, is often taken to give omen of the character of a life. The manner of consulting it is simple; it is but to look for the verse answering to the day of the month on which the questioner was born. The answer will be found in most cases to be exceedingly ambiguous.”

Elsewhere in the essay, Baring-Gould suggests that such augury from the Bible is by no means reliable, but I know better, and it was with trembling hands that I turned to Proverbs, Chapter 11, in the King James Version of course, and read verse 29:

“He that troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind: and the fool shall be servant to the wise of heart.”

This, then, is the infallible omen of my life. Henceforth I shall conduct all my affairs, sacred and profane, in accordance with these words. I suggest all Hooting Yard readers do likewise, yea, unto the Last Trump. If you are not sure how to follow the guidance as revealed unto you in Proverbs, several years spent as an anchorite in a sea-bashed cave will sort you out good and proper.

Sabine Baring-Gould Week continues with some extremely useful information imparted in his book Curiosities Of Olden Times (1869), written when our hero was living in the abundant mud of Dalton i’t Muck. Examining legal proceedings taken against “snails, flies, mice, moles, ants, caterpillars, &c.”, Baring-Gould gives us the precise wording recommended when one wishes to excommunicate such vile creatures. This was drawn up by Bartholomew de Chasseneux, “a noted lawyer of the sixteenth century”. Please note that you should always bring your case against creepy-crawlies and vermin before the ecclesiastical rather than the civil courts.

The correct form of excommunication is as follows: “O snails, caterpillars, and other obscene creatures, which destroy the food of our neighbours, depart hence! Leave these cantons which you are devastating, and take refuge in those localities where you can injure no one. I.N.P., &c.”

It is unclear to me whether that “&c.” indicates simply the reading of the Lord’s Prayer – “I.N.P.” standing for “In Nomine Patris” – or whether there are further animadversions and anathemas to follow. In the absence of any clear guidance I suppose you shall have to get the presiding excommunicator to improvise.