GERROFF, IT'S MINE!
Goth Goddard was a poacher. No-one knows where he came from. Some suspected
he was a
left
over from World War One. Most Germans captured during that war went
back to The Fatherland, but some, perhaps a little more awake than most
when the war ended and POWs were being shipped back, could have thought
"Ah ha, if I go back I could be in deep, brown, smelly stuff."
Trouble is, when up to your nose in mire you should, if you have an ounce
of sense, keep your mouth shut. But Goth had a habit of opening his mouth
when he should have kept it shut, so armed with this intelligence he opted
to stay in Lincolnshire.
Like I said, no-one knew for sure where he came from. One assumes that
with a name like Goth
that he came from the land of Siegfried and the Valkyries, but he could
just as well have come from next door because when he spoke it was with
a broad Lincolnshire accent, a bit guttural but Lincolnshire none the less.
Goth was a handy lad with a snare or rabbit trap. He was also a fair
shot with a 4.10 or 12 gauge
shotgun. It was not uncommon to spot him coming home on his rusty old
bike just as it was getting dusk, and having seen him I would ponder, why
is he walking and wheeling his bike? It wasn't till years later it dawned
on me that his outsize overcoat was so stuffed with pheasant and rabbit
he could not pedal without falling off.
Unfortunately one night Constable Hook of the Lincolnshire constabulary
stationed at Parton
crossed paths with our hero and it wasn't long before the copper was
doing the knees bend bit while warbling " ello, ello, wot we gor
ere then?"
Being very inoffensive, but ever on his guard, our mate comes up with,
"Oi just bin' aht pickin' a few
daaisis fer me missus, she in't very well y'naw."
The copper with a smirk asks "Wor appened to em then?"
Goth replied, "Well it's a bit o' a long story," but the copper
cut in with another smirk and got in
another knee bend.
"Ah gor all night, I got nuthin' else tu do. Let's ear it".
"Well," said Goth, "Oi gor em this mornin' an' Oi wus
on me way ome an Oi noticed they wus
wiltin', so Oi chucked em awaer (away) an Oi thowt app'n Oi'll pick
some nearer ome."
The cop leered with his face now close to Goth's and mouthed, "Out
of somebody's fron' gardin, no
doubt."
Goth looked hurt and responded to this barbed wit with a quick glance
left and right, hoping some
good Samaritan would come and rescue him from this fire breathing ogre
dressed in blue. But the laneway was empty except for Goth and his new
playmate.
Then the leer fell away from the cop's face and he became almost amiable
as he suggested to Goth
"Why don't yu' lean yer bike agin that wall an' tek that big coat
off an' we ll ev a look see what is in't pockets, appen."
Goth looked like he had just received a kick in the face. "I ain't
takin'nowt off" an' yu ent gor a
search warrant, so yu can kiss ma bum."
"Orl right, " said Hook, "let's tek a stroll tu station
then."
So off they walked down the lane like a couple of old mates and out
of the end into High Street
where the police station was next to the dance hall. I found out later
our mate got fined two quid (2 pounds) for poaching and his guns were confiscated.
A month later I was walking past the house where Goth slept. He would
leave at dawn and come
home at dusk as was his habit of old, but today either he was late or
I was early. Anyway, I was passing as he emerged from his backyard via
the side alley and he leaned his trusty rusty against the wall and adjusted
the folded up 4.10 shot gun in the special slots sewn in his big old ex
army overcoat.
"Good morning," I blithely warbled.
"Yis," was the curt reply.
I tried again. "Beautiful day."
That's when I decided I may as well talk to the bike leaning against
the wall.
Goth got another bike, not new but it was serviceable, and he also got
another 12 bore to go with
his 4.10 and I thought he doesn't have such a bad life after all. He
is free as a bird, goes were and when he likes, doesn't work for anyone,
just goes out all day wet or fine into the country side and comes home
of an evening to sleep, but he empties his big pockets first, rabbits,
grouse, pheasant, you name it he's got it. So what he doesn't use he sells
to others and it was whispered that he kept Mrs. Smith supplied when her
lad was sick and was off work (her hubby was too sick to work, some thing
to do with gas attacks in the trenches).
Anyway, Goth was one step ahead of Hook the fiery dragon in blue all
the way. Try as he may,
Hook never could get anything on Goth again. I must admit I found Hook
a bit much in my youth, he was a nasty piece of work.
John Kitchin was a mate of mine and his Dad was out of work, so he did
not get to the cinema very
often and they had to manage like lots of families at that time. But
some people who had received the odd rabbit or pheasant had a sneaky suspicion
it was Goth who was playing Santa Claus, but they kept mum so the law could
not nab him.
We went to see the local hero-cum-garage mechanic ride his motorcycle
through a hoop of fire.
Prior to the big day, posters had been put up and everyone was flocking
to this field to see the bloke who was going to risk all for a couple of
quid.
Well there were young ladies waiting to faint, and brickyard rough blokes
who were betting that in
about two minutes flat there would be nothing but a heap of ashes. "He'll
niver git through that," somebody ventured. "They esn't lit er
yit' said another, and someone else suggested "He don't want ter ang
about app'n e could git is nuts roasted," and a guffaw of laughter
accompanied this remark.
A cheer went up as our hero came roaring into the field. With lots of
little flourishes he checked this
and that. Then a kind of disappointed moan went up as he put on a helmet,
then a heavy scarf over his face and finally a heavy leather coat and a
big pair of goggles. Somebody yelled, "Why don't yu balance a bucket
of watter ower yu ead an' be done wi' it!"
I think most people were hoping to see a heap of twisted metal with
what looked like an
over-barbequed sausage smoking on top. But with a couple of BRUUUUM------BRUUUUMS
and a ROAR he set off and a deathly silence fell over the crowd.
Our hero streaked toward the now burning ring of fire and up the plank
and through the flames.
Since he was only a foot off the ground he came to earth and turning
went back to the starting point and took all the gear off.
John and I looked at one another as much as to say "is that it
then"?. Then John said "I can do better than
that on me pedal bike" and we both had a laugh and went home to
his house for tea.
Would you believe it? On the nail inside the back door were a pair of
pheasants hanging.
