Excerpts

Volume the First Every Neighbourhood should have a great Lady. 1 FROM: charley@whiffle.com TO: cassie@natterjack.com SUBJECT: cracked jugs -- daft buggers -- & tank traps Hi Cass! Hows things in darkest Africa? Wierd & wonderful -- I bet -- but not so w&w as what weve got here at Willingden Farm. Go on -- guess! OK -- give up? House-guests! & I dont mean awful Uncle Ernie on one of his famous surprise visits. These are strangers ! What happened -- at last after our awful wet summer Augusts turned hot -- not African hot but pretty steamy by Yorkshire standards. Dad & George were working up in Mill Meadow. Mum asked if Id take them a jug of lemon barley -- said it would please dad if I showed willing . Weve been in armed truce since I made it clear my plans hadnt changed -- ie do a postgrad thesis instead of getting a paid job -- or better still -- a wellpaid husband -- & settling down ! But no reason not to show willing -- plus it gave me an excuse to drive the quad -- so off I went. Forgot the mugs -- but dad didnt say anything -- just drank straight out of the jug like he preferred it -- so maybe mum was right & he was pleased. In fact we were having a pleasant chat when suddenly old Fang let out a growl. Lost half his teeth & cant keep up with the sheep any more -- but still manages a grand growl. Dad looked round to see what had woken him -- & his face went into Headbanger configuration. -- whats yon daft bugger playing at? -- he demanded. Youll recall that in dads demography anyone living outside Willingden parish is a daft bugger till proved innocent. In this case I half agreed with him. The DB in question was driving his car fast up the lane alongside Mill Meadow. How he got through the gate I dont know. The HB had to take his chain & lock off after the Ramblers took him to court last year -- but hes fixed a catch like one of them old metal puzzles we used to play with as kids. Maybe the DB just got lucky -- he thought! He was driving one of these new hybrid 4x4s -- you know -- conscience without inconvenience! -- & when he saw how good the surface was -- ( tractor tyres dont grow on trees! -- remember?) -- he mustve thought -- great! -- now for a bit of safe off-roading. What he didnt reckon on was what George calls dads tank trap -- the drainage ditch where the lane bends beyond the top gate & steepens up to the mill ruin. New tourist map came out last year -- with water mill marked -- no mention of ruin . Result -- a lot of DBs decided this meant Heritage Centre -- guided tours & cream teas! After losing out to the Ramblers -- dad was forced to accept 'bearded wierdies' trekking across his empire -- but the sight of cars crawling up his lane drove him crazy. So one day he got to work with the digger -- & when hed finished -- the drainage ditch extended across the lane -- a muddy hollow a hippo could wallow in -- the tank trap ! Most drivers flee at the sight of it -- but this DB obviously thought his hybrid could ford rivers & climb Alps -- & just kept going. Bad decision. For 30 secs the wheels sent out glutinous brown jets -- like a cow with colic -- then the car slipped slowly sideways -- finishing at 45 degrees -- driver side down. -- now hell expect us to pull him out -- said the HB with some satisfaction. Moment later the passenger door was flung back. First thing out was a floppy brimmed sun hat -- sort posh lady gardeners wear in the old Miss Marple movies. Beneath it was a w Excerpted from A Cure for All Diseases by Reginald Hill, Reginald Hill All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.