PLEASE NOTE: "THAT THE AUTHOR OF THIS GRAVEYARD CHRONICLES SERIES HAS BEEN WRITING THEM SINCE 2011. THEY HAVE NOTHING WHATSOEVER TO DO WITH THE 'PODCASTS' OF THE SAME NAME, THAT HAVE RECENTLY APPEARED! - THANK YOU - S.J.W.

EPISODE 10: "Home Again."



"BACK TO THE GOOD OLD RAT HOLE...."
                   
10:”HOME AGAIN.”

Max had finished sulking and asked: “What the hell is a Hitler?”

To a person we ignored him and wandered through the cemetery gates, Mog was sitting on a nearby tombstone, reading ‘a ‘Superman’ comic, after being punched in the throat by Larde, he let us in.

I asked him where the rest of the residents were, and once he could speak again, clutching his throat, he whispered hoarsely “Piss off!” and went back to reading his comic.

He glanced up as Mr. Boggle wandered past him, but he didn’t even try to stop him. Mr. Boggle stared into one of the large holes that had appeared around the place and with a big grin exclaimed; “What the f**k!” Then laughing to himself, he disappeared at the rear of the cemetery.

We peered down the hole with some curiosity – it was totally empty!

Larde gave me a puzzled look and I just shrugged my shoulders. Maude smiled and said simply; “Well, it is Mr. Boggle!” We all laughed.

“It’s really quiet Tom, where is everyone?” Maude sat down on the steps of the ‘Old Gentleman’s’ crypt and rubbed her feet – Larde offered to suck them  better – she politely declined the offer by throwing several stones at him and putting her shoes back on.

We all sat on the steps and looked around – for a big graveyard, it really was quiet – very quiet and still – not a sound.

“BANG! BANG! Take that you filthy hun swine!” Mr. Angry leapt from a nearby hole, he had festooned his pink nightie with flowers and ribbons, and he was in a good mood obviously.

Once we climbed down from the roof of the crypt and stopped shaking, I asked where everyone was; he didn’t know and jumped into another hole shouting “Arthur! Darling Arthur!” 

Then the ‘Old Gentleman’s’ wife appeared and told us to “Bugger off!” from her crypt steps; she didn’t know either, except that she suspected her husband was fornicating with some strumpet somewhere.

She looked Maude up and down with contempt and sneered “Something like that, I expect.”

"THE 'OLD GENTLEMAN' IS LOOKING FOR THE ANGEL IN SOME STRANGE PLACES!"
She retracted that statement – after regaining consciousness – and finding a large chunk of tombstone on her forehead – Maude was absolutely deadly with anything that resembled rocks and the old wife threw the lump of marble at Larde, who she suspected of ‘feeling her up’ whilst she was unconsciousness.

Her and Maude were to become good friends in the end.

It was Ruben Nosewell (1809 – 1867) who told us that the other search party had not returned yet, but they had sent him back to inform everyone of their success – they had acquired the address of the Angel in Charge and would return to elect a small group to petition him about what the ‘Lifer’s’ were getting up to.

Now Ruben was bit of a character, it was rumoured that whilst still in possession of his ‘flesh suit’, he had been a right Casanova, basically he would shag anything in a dress, and drunk as a skunk one night, attempted a romantic liaison with a certain large and angry member of the Scots Guards, who really didn’t fancy a ‘late night knee trembler’ with old Ruben (A certain Fergus McAlistair, a well know transvestite and mountain climber) He fell from the walls of Edinburgh castle, naked and drunk, clutching a ripped off sporran and shouting “I only asked, for fuck sake!”

"CAPTAIN FERGUS McALISTAIR ON HIS DAY OFF!"
But from sorrow comes joy (so they say....) and his wife didn't seem to mind the loss, she shed no tears for poor old Ruben and was definitely a 'merry widow' – not only collecting a fat insurance payout for his 'accident', but became friendly with the entire Pipe Band of the Scots Guards who practised regularly at her house.

She had several children over the following years:

Major Nosewell,
Pipes Nosewell,
Drummond Nosewell,
Scot Nosewell,
Bugle Nosewell,
And a girl called Sporran Victoria Nosewell, who was strangely enough, African in appearance – or just 'well tanned' as her mother pointed out, if asked.

"It was Drummond Nosewell (1870 – 1899) who, having joined the Scots Guards as a Cook, won the V.C. During the Boar War – he had been captured by the Afrikaners and they forced him to cook for their rebel officers, and later several died, vomiting and shitting themselves after one of his curries, thus he was accused of poisoning and shot.

The firing squad scene resembled a 'Shakespearean Tragedy', the young officer in charge, the only survivor of Nosewell's 'Goat Vindaloo' managed to shout “Ready!” and the squad came to attention, then he dashed off to empty his bowels again. Some minutes later he staggered back with enough strength to order “Aim!” But he was gone again before he could finish.

Over an hour later, he crawled back on all fours, and with his dying breath whispered “Fire!”  Before his much abused back passage finally exploded, causing several horses’s to stampede and two native bearers to run screaming from the camp - believing the devil himself had appeared.

By this time Drummond Nosewell was a total wreck and was laughing hysterically, singing bawdy music hall songs, much to the annoyance of his executioners – for displaying such contempt of the enemy in the face of certain death, he was awarded the British Empires greatest medal – the Victoria Cross.

But what was really tragic, was that he hadn't poisoned anyone – he was just a bloody awful chef."

Tom.

  "BOAR COMMANDO'S - THEY DIDN'T HAVE THE GOAT VINDALOO - SO THEY SHOT HIM!"
Strangely enough, old Ruben was quite proud of the boy!

Big Boy Frank then calmly told us, that he knew the address because he and some other agents had dealt with a sensitive domestic matter at the Angels mansion, concerning the Angel’s young wife and several strapping young African gardeners who had planted more that tree seeds.

I understand that the Angel only employs dead Nuns around the grounds now.

Rather strangely, the Sister Superior is called ‘Richard’ and has a full beard, she loves to regale the other Nuns with her stories about driving a Tank in WW II and holding farting contests after a good game of rugby and a few beers. But she’s magic with plants, though she doesn’t have ‘green fingers’, just nicotine stained ones……….

"SISTER RICHARD!"

Well readers, after such adventures, the team is going to rest a while and think of some way to extract ourselves from the bloody mess we find ourselves in – Maude has suggested a weekend in Blackpool, Larde, Max and Big Boy Frank are game for it, but the damn beach has some terrible memories for me.

Bye all – remember, if you can’t be good – don’t get caught.


No.10 OF 'A SKELETON'S LIFE SERIES:
"TIME TO CHANGE TO SPARE HEAD No.2......"


 





http://thegraveyardchronicles.blogspot.com/2013/03/message-5-close-encounter-with-life.html
FORWARD TO EPISODE 11. "LAUNDRETTE."


http://thegraveyardchronicles.blogspot.com/2013/02/message-4-visit-from-g-men-part-2.html
RETURN TO EPISODE 9. "AN INVITATION FROM THE G-MEN."







"THE GHOST WRITER."

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