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Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1619
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, December 21, 2003 - 5:57 pm: | 
|
OK, AP. Here's the Alphabet :
'C' is for Tom Cutbush with his dodgy family tree.
'H' is for the Happenstance according to AP.
'R' is for the Row that broke poor Kelly's window pane.
'I' is for the Icing on the cake as sweet as Michael Caine.
'S' is for the Scribble on the Goulston wall.
'T' is for the Tarts 'neath Tumblety so tall.
'M' is for the Miller's Court where Mary Kelly's p*ssed.
'A' is for the Angel Alley, scene of Pearly's tryst.
'S' is for old Saddam (solved the case, now don't forget).
All goes to make a happy smiling Christmas Alphabet.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 623
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, December 23, 2003 - 11:45 am: |
|
What’s under the tree at Jack’s house?
We join the family on Christmas day evening gathered to share out the pile of presents piled up below the twinkling Christmas tree. Long tradition in the Jack house has dictated that the presents are not opened as usual on Christmas morning for fear that some of the family will not make Christmas dinner alive.
‘Jack, do go first,’ his mother implored. ‘For you have more presents than anyone else.’
‘Only if you insist, mother,’ Jack replied. ‘For it should of course be ladies first.’
‘Oh yes, Jack,’ chirped in his auntie. ‘Do go first.’
‘I’ve a mind to slit your throat, dearest auntie of mine,’ Jack mentioned in passing.
The whole family guffawed with laughter.
‘You are a card, Jack!’ shrieked his mother.
‘And your throat too, you Catholic bitch!’ Jack roared.
‘Now, now,’ said Uncle Charles, taking Jack by the elbow and propelling him towards the presents under the tree. ‘Save that sort of stuff for tonight, young nephew of mine, I’ve told you a thousand times that you must keep our little hobby out of the family circle.’
‘Quite right, uncle Charles,’ Jack replied in shame. ‘I fear it must have been the glass of fine port I had after stabbing that serving wench shortly before dinner.’
‘Is she dead, me dear boy?’ enquired uncle Charles.
‘Quite horribly so I’m afraid, bled like a pig, all over your firearms collection in the spare room…’
‘Pon my word!’ roared Uncle Charles.
‘What ever is the matter, Charles?’ asked Jack’s mother, quite astonished at the outburst of profanity.
‘Jack’s gone and sliced the maid up again!’
‘Oh dear…’ Jack’s mother shook a sorrowful head, it had once belonged to a Catholic seamstress who lodged with them some years previously, and then continued. ‘But who will do the washing up?’
‘I will!’ offered auntie cheerfully.
‘I should have slit your throat five minutes ago,’ growled Jack.
‘Later, Jack,’ commanded his uncle. ‘To the presents now!’
‘Very good, sir,’ replied Jack as he knelt down to examine the plethora of gaily wrapped parcels.
Taking the largest parcel, Jack pulled a wicked blade from his pocket and began furiously stabbing the box.
‘I think he likes it!’ whispered mother to auntie, who nodded her head in agreement. This particular head had once belonged to a Jewish midwife who had arrived to help deliver Jack and was of great sentimental value to the entire family for this reason. It was always brought out on birthdays and Christmas for some nodding and shaking.
‘What is it, Jack?’ asked his uncle as blood flowed out from the parcel Jack was carefully unpacking.
‘It’s a rabbit,’ announced Jack. ‘But I fear it is has suffered quite horribly in the postal delay.’
‘No matter, dear boy, go on to the next.’
Taking scissors from his pocket Jack snipped and snapped at the next parcel in a distracted way for quite some five minutes before revealing a large book of some description. Jack read the title cover:
‘Black’s Illustrated Medical Guide For The Young and Developing Serial Killer - The Disorganized Version.’
‘Well, Jack what do you say?’ asked uncle Charles.
‘Oh dear uncle Charles, how did you possible guess that this was what I earnestly desired as a present? I am overcome with pleasure and gratification and promise you that I will study this valuable volume in depth this very night and then put into practise what I can learn from it.’
‘Harumph,’ chortled Charles in some embarrassment. ‘I did take the liberty of studying the volume first and I do believe you will find the chapter on the rapid removal of the uterus to be quite a boon to your little hobby.’
‘Oh Jack dear, please open mine!’ implored his auntie.
‘Are you still here, you scumbag of a Catholic whore, I should slit your throat without delay!’ roared Jack but was brought back to the business at hand by uncle Charles suddenly firing a volley of pistol shots into the ceiling.
The tap dancing of the remaining servant upstairs brought a festive smile to all concerned as plaster chips rained down upon the gathering like snow.
Taking his auntie’s parcel, Jack threw it to the floor and proceeded to jump up and down on it with determined vigour.
‘Is Jack Morris-dancing?’ asked auntie of mother.
‘No I think it is a sailor’s jig,’ mother replied.
Finally Jack bent down and extracted a small cut throat razor from the parcel.
‘Very nice, auntie,’ he smiled whilst cutting at the air viciously with the wicked blade.
‘I thought it would save you carrying that big horrible carving knife about with you all the time when you go for your little rambles at night, dear nephew,’ she coyly remarked.
‘Quite right auntie, this is a fine little weapon, I shall just pop upstairs and try it out.’
Shortly after he had dashed up the stairs there came the most horrendous palaver with blood curdling screams and the crashing sounds of a pursuit echoing through the upper story’s of the ramshackle old house.
‘I suppose we had better open our own presents,’ sighed uncle Charles. ‘It looks like we might not see Jack for some few minutes now while he plays with his new toy.’
Jack’s mother presented Charles with a large package which he unwrapped to reveal a full size gatling gun and several belts of spare ammunition.
‘By the great Catholic whore herself, this is exactly what I wanted for the Easter Day parade!’ he cried with joy and fired off several enthusiastic bursts of rapid fire through the parlour window at some Catholics gathered to sing carols to the household.
As the dust settled the moans of dying Catholics mingled with Charles’ screams to his sisters to fetch cold water to pour on the barrels of the gun as the bloody thing had jammed.
Soon there came a thunderous knocking at the door, which proved to be two uniformed constables enquiring as to the general welfare of the household.
‘Come in, come in!’ roared Uncle Charles. ‘Don’t stand out there in the cold, come in and have a glass of Christmas cheer with us good folks.’
The two constables removed their helmets and shyly entered the parlour to stand in abject admiration of uncle Charles’ latest acquisition whilst the ladies furnished them mince pies and hot toddy.
‘Sorry to disturb you sir,’ began the first constable. ‘But as it was Christmas and all that, me and Jim here were wondering whether you had any er… er… disposables so to speak, to dispose off?’
‘By god constable I do believe we do, in fact I think we might have two of them on our hands tonight, just let me call young Jack to see what he’s done with them,’ and with that Charles set off in search of Jack.
Some minutes elapsed before nephew and uncle entered the parlour again, Jack looking the worse for wear, covered in blood and still slicing at the air with his new cut throat.
‘Evening Jack,’ called both constables cheerfully.
‘Glaglagla,’ that good fellow replied.
‘They are upstairs men, in the spare room,’ uncle Charles told his constables.
‘Where would you like them, sir?’ asked the first constable.
‘Well now, let me see,’ uncle Charles mused. ‘I think we haven’t used Mitre Square for some time, so one could go there, just by the lamp post, that should keep the night watchman and patrolling constable on their toes, and the other one you could usefully place on top of Scotland Yard, I think it would be only fair to remove the limbs first… unless Jack has already done so, I’ll ask him…’
Eventually the two constables retired into the night carrying large bundles wrapped in sacking, singing ‘Silent Night’.
‘Oh Charles dear,’ murmured Jack’s mother. ‘Your constables are always so kind at Christmas, helping to move the servants on when they are of no more use to us. Let me get you a large brandy.’
With that she left the room with Jack a step behind waving his cut throat wildly in the air.
‘Do you think the domestic agency to be open on Boxing Day?’ Charles asked of his sister.
There came an anguished scream from the kitchen followed by a large thump and then all was silence.
‘Ah well,’ Charles sighed. ‘I suppose I shall just have to fetch the brandy myself.’
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1630
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, December 23, 2003 - 1:40 pm: |
|
Lots of laughs, AP, from the most dysfunctional family in Ripperology! I loved the constables disposing of the bodies while singing "Silent Night"!
I may try to do a Nativity Play. I'll have a think and see if anything comes.
Robert |
Natalie Severn
Detective Sergeant
Username: Severn
Post Number: 122
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, December 23, 2003 - 3:41 pm: |
|
A.P. I think you have hit on something here.The two scenes brought to mind The Brothers Karamazov
and this led me to think about the way families unconsciously go about supporting dysfunctional behaviour while vehemently denying this to the outside world.I can quite imagine the scenario of the mother and aunt [in denial at this stage about Jack"s antisocial tendencies]ignoring or treating as only mildly irritating his outlandish behaviour while Uncle Charles with his own outlandish and and fanatical anti catholisism
is secretly encouraging his protege[unaware of quite how far Jack might go-I would have thought]
The family here is acting as one glued together force for destruction which will be carried to fruition in Jack"s mad acts.This is how I"m seeing it-am I reading too much into your play?
Best Natalie. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1632
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, December 23, 2003 - 3:54 pm: |
|
And it came to pass in those days, that a decree went out from Caesar Augustus Chrisus Scottus, that every man should take himself to Spitalfields, that he might be counted in the Census.
And Joseph Barnett and Mary Kelly went unto Spitalfields. And Mary rode on an ass, which being interpreted means, Sir Robert Anderson.
And Joseph smote the door of the inn. And lo! the keeper Donovan answered, saying, "There is no room."
Now Joseph was exceeding wroth, saying, "I have lost my job because the fisherman Peter hath overfished the sea. And I am sorely afflicted with quotas, and have no stock to sell. And now thou sayest, there is no room?"
And behold, a young man appeared, and cast forth from the inn the body of Polly Nichols, yea, even unto Buck's Row did he cast her forth, saying, "Room for one more inside."
But Joseph answered him, "I need three places, for lo! Mary is big with friends, and inviteth one Harvey to stay with us."
And the young man cast forth from the inn the bodies of Chapman and Eddowes, unto Hanbury St and Mitre Square, saying, "There thou goest."
And behold there came three Kings from the Orient, which being interpreted means, the East End. And their names were Abberline, Kosminski and Cohen. And Abberline gave unto Joseph gold.
And Joseph saith, "These are not gold rings, but brass, thou hypocrite!"
And Kosminski gave unto Joseph frankincense, and Joseph saith, "This is hair clippings, thou barber of Beelzebub!
And Cohen gave unto Joseph myrrh, and Joseph and Mary drank, saying, "This isn't myrrh, this is best quality SSB."
And while they were making merry and celebrating Christmas, shepherds arrived saying, "Where is he whom we seek? For we follow a star."
And Joseph asked them, "Which star?"
And they answered, saying unto him, "Dan Leno."
And it came to pass, they all went to watch Christmas panto.
But the young man from the inn passed among them. And they saw him not...
Robert
|
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 626
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, December 23, 2003 - 4:40 pm: |
|
Robert
thanks for your comments. I enjoyed your Christmas alphabet tremendously, but your 'and it came to pass' is a corker, again I was laughing out loud.
I don't know where you get it from, it can't be the tea can it?
Anyways, superb stuff again. |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 627
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, December 23, 2003 - 4:48 pm: |
|
Natalie
yes of course you are right, within the humour I always do try to prove a point, and you hit that point perfectly.
I do believe that Jack's family would have made enormous allowance for his somewhat strange behaviour, and in fact it may have even become part of family tradition and practise.
I know the particular view I have shown here may have been stretched and indulged by Christmas cheer and SSB, but nonetheless I do feel it to be not far off the mark of reality.
There is a well-documented blindness to such events when it concerns close relatives, as recent cases have shown.
Well spotted. |
Natalie Severn
Detective Sergeant
Username: Severn
Post Number: 123
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, December 23, 2003 - 4:55 pm: |
|
Very enjoyable Robert.I was waiting for the sisters of perpetual indulgence to appear and for Mary to don some viginal attire for Anderson I think I"m getting back into this again!
[by the way they never came for the laptop its to be collected Jan 2nd now.Best Natalie. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1633
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, December 23, 2003 - 5:12 pm: |
|
Thanks AP and Natalie.
It's half down to tea, half to cigarettes.
It occurs to me that the Cutbush family antics could become a weekly thing. Well, if the Osbournes can do it....
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 628
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, December 24, 2003 - 4:25 am: |
|
Good idea Robert
I see no reason to allow the good family not to be episodic in nature. Make a pleasant change from East Enders once a week.
All I can say is that the tea must be gunpowder green and the cigarettes must be naughty african woodbines. |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 629
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, December 24, 2003 - 11:40 am: |
|
The Gentlemen’s Club on Christmas Night
Uncle Charles has fled the household to enjoy a quiet hour of reflection at his Gentlemen’s Club on the Strand. We join him sat uneasily in an easy chair quaffing a large glass of SSB and puffing furiously on an Indian cheroot.
The Right Honourable Henry Matthews, MP & PC, Home Secretary passes by and cheerfully calls out: ‘Evening Charles, allow me to wish you and your charming family a very merry Christmas and a happy New Year!’
‘Catholic scum!’ roars uncle Charles, leaps to his feet, pulls a large service pistol out of his jacket and directs a wild fusillade of bullets in the direction of the rapidly disappearing minister.
‘Evening, Charles,’ calls out James Monroe, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner, from an adjacent easy chair where he had been busy completing the crossword in the Daily Star before the somewhat rude interruption. ‘Something bothering you this fine Christmas evening, Charles?’ he enquired politely.
‘Not at all me dear fellow!’ retorts uncle Charles, placing the barrel of his service pistol into the glass of brandy to cool off the smouldering barrel, instantly igniting the volatile liquid in the glass.
‘Your brandy appears to be aflame, old chap,’ points out Monroe.
‘No matter me dear fellow, it is all the fashion in Greece to drink it so,’ Charles assures him and downs the flaming liquid in one great gulp, setting fire to his beard and shirt, and then calmly turns to his Times and studies the news with great intensity.
‘It is disgraceful!’ he roars a few moments later, quite startling Monroe again who had returned to his crossword.
‘What ails you now, Charles?’
‘This Ripper chappie,’ Charles explains with smoke and flames pouring from his beard and shirt. ’Running around the East End carving up good Protestant whores when there are any number of Catholic whores out there for the taking.’
‘I agree, Charles, it is an absolute disgrace, and I really must have a word with Matthews the Home Secretary about the situation.’
‘Catholic scum!’ roars Charles and with his second pistol fires a volley of shots into the ceiling, causing someone above to thump the floor loudly and shout ’have a care there, sir! We are playing gin rummy!’.
Monroe took the opportunity to halt a passing waiter.
‘Would you top up the soda in my glass,’ instructs Monroe. ’And then see if you can do something about the superintendent’s beard and shirt.’
‘Certainly sir,’ replies the waiter, quickly topped up the commissioner’s glass and then directed his soda fountain at the smouldering police superintendent until the flames are finally quenched.
The two of them return to the study of their newspapers for some minutes.
‘Charles?’ calls out Monroe, who is still busy with his cross word.
‘Yes old boy?’
‘A four letter word for the head of the Catholic church?’
‘Scum!’ roars Charles.
‘Thank you, Charles.’
The clock ticks softly in the background.
‘Charles?’
‘Yes old boy?’
‘A murderous individual attacking and mutilating prostitutes in the Whitechapel area of London, three words, first word four letters, second word three letters, third word six letters, any ideas?’
Charles sat lost in thought for quite some five minutes.
‘Sorry old chap,’ he eventually replies. ’Can’t help you with that one I’m afraid.’
‘Never mind, it’s about time I went home,’ Monroe lazily pulls himself out of the easy chair. ’How’s that nephew of yours, what is his name?’
‘Jack.’
‘That’s it, Jack, likeable sort of rogue isn’t he… I bumped right into him on the corner of the Strand some weeks ago late at night and he had this blood-stained parcel with him, left bloodstains all over me shirt so it did, rabbits he said it was, rabbits…’
‘Yes, yes, rabbits,’ agrees Charles quickly. ’Very fond of rabbit is Jack, quite a marvel to behold, how he catches the little chaps, slits their little throats and has them gutted and skinned in seconds.’
‘Well, I must remember that the next time my chap brings me some live rabbit, good night Charles!’
‘Good night, Commissioner!’
After ordering another brandy Charles spreads out his ammunition on the table and slowly loads his depleted pistols.
‘What Ho! Charles!’ calls out Inspector Abberline as he passes. ‘Expecting some trouble on the streets tonight?’
‘No, no, me dear chap,’ Charles replies. ‘I’m off to Mass after the club and am just preparing me good self for that celebratory occasion of good will to all men.’
‘Except Catholic men that is, eh Charles?’ Abberline chortles, and then adds: ‘That was a fine old mess you made of the writing in Goulston Street the other night, what on earth were you thinking of? What possessed you to write ‘Juwes’.’
Uncle Charles turned bright red with embarrassment. ‘Damn it all, Abberline!’ he eventually roars. ‘You can’t blame a man for not being able to spell that damned word ‘Catholics’!’
At that moment the club doors burst dramatically open to reveal a blood-stained Jack with glazed eyes and a fixed grimace on his battered face. Jack is escorted to Charles’ table by a hovering waiter.
‘Why Jack!’ exclaims Charles. ’You look quite done it, old chap, what the devil has happened to you dear boy… but let’s get you a drink first, waiter bring this poor needy chap a stiff SSB, if ever the restorative powers of SSB were required it is on this occasion.’
With a powerful dose of SSB inside him Jack recounts his tale to his uncle and Inspector Abberline.
‘It was quite remarkable sir,’ he began. ’A great big tall wench she was, just off Aldgate High Street, with a wooden leg…’
‘That sounds like Pearly Poll to me,’ chips in Abberline.
‘A Catholic!?’ demands uncle Charles.
‘Without doubt, sir!’
‘Splendid, to your tale, Jack, we are suitably agog.’
‘She said to me ’do you fancy a good time, young sir, for four pence?’ so I replied ’No, but I’ll slit your throat for sixpence’ and she unscrewed her wooden leg and set about beating me round the head with it until I was quite black and blue…’
‘The Catholic bitch!’ roars uncle Charles. ’Abberline, on your feet, I want that damned Catholic whore arrested within the hour!’
‘Very good, sir,’ came the reply from the already departed inspector.
‘Bleeding heavily I made my way to Dr Brooks of Westminster Bridge,’ Jack continues. ’You remember him, don’t you uncle Charles? He treated us both for the clap last year.’
‘But the damned fellow is a damned Catholic!’ roars uncle Charles.
‘Not anymore he isn’t, sir,’ Jack says with wry grin. ’Anyway that is the reason for the entirely dishevelled condition you find my good self in tonight, sir.’
‘This is absolutely outrageous!’ swears Charles. ’Not only are good Protestant whores no longer safe on our streets at night because of some knife wielding maniac, but now my own good and honest Protestant nephew is set upon by a Catholic mob and beaten to within an inch of his life. I shall have every Catholic in London arrested, no, in fact I shall have every Catholic in London shot, in fact I shall shoot every Catholic in London myself, in fact if I was a Catholic I would shoot myself this instance without mercy or delay, in fact I will do that very thing now!’
And so saying uncle Charles claps a pistol to his own head and pulls the trigger.
‘Damn!’ he swears. ‘I haven’t loaded this one yet! Never mind, I’ll shoot myself later. Come on Jack, let’s get you home so your dear auntie can tend to your wounds.’
‘Er…’, says Jack.
‘You haven’t have you, Jack?’ uncle Charles asks cautiously.
‘Er…’, repeats Jack.
‘You have! Damnation! That means I’ll have to make the cocoa now.’
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1642
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, December 24, 2003 - 2:23 pm: |
|
Great stuff, AP. I loved the gin rummy and Charles deciding to shoot himself, but the whole thing went along perfectly. I'll try to continue :
As Uncle Charles and Jack walked along the festive streets, they heard the merry sounds of carol singers :
"Deck the halls with bowels of Polly,
Tra-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la."
"If one of those comes near me, I'll deck him"
shouted Uncle Charles.
Soon they came to streets filled with shouting, screaming people engaging in fistfights, razor attacks, and thermonuclear war.
"Christmas in Albert Square", said Jack. We get the same thing every Yuletide. Repeat after repeat."
Just then a man with a hook nose, singing "You gotta pick a pocket or two" brushed against Jack, and quickly went on his way. Jack felt his pocket.
"Uncle Charles, I've been robbed!"
The next instant there was a startled scream, and they looked round to see the hook-nose man running off for dear life, tossing a kidney over his shoulder.
"Damn it, must we have "Oliver" every Christmas?" moaned Uncle Charles. "Oh no! It's that Catholic bastard of Oz, the tin man!"
"Pardon me, gentlemen", said a man made of tin. "Do you know where I can find a heart?"
"I can get you one -" began Jack, but he got no further, because Uncle Charles doused the tin stranger with SSB from his hip flask, and set him on fire. The heat quite unsoldered his head.
"Damn Catholics! If I could find that yellow brick road I'd lob some bricks at their churches!" declared Uncle Charles. "What's more, I - "
Suddenly Uncle Charles went purple. Jack could see that something had upset him. The next moment, Jack heard and understood.
"The hills are alive with the Sound of Music."
"Damned Catholic nuns!" said Charles, beside himself. "Absolutely!" his second self answered.
A group of nuns trooped out of Providence Row, singing "How do you solve a problem like Maria?"
"That's an easy one", answered Jack. "You skeletonise her and walk off with her heart."
"Go to it, Jack", winked Uncle Charles, as Jack shot off in the direction of Providence Row and Dorset Street.
At this point a man stepped forth from the shadows.
"Oh no, not another repeat!" screamed Uncle Charles.
"My name is Bond, Dr Bond. Licensed to kill."
"All doctors are", replied Uncle Charles. "But as it happens, you're just the chap I want to see. How do you fancy doing an autopsy?..."
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 630
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, December 25, 2003 - 10:58 am: |
|
Great stuff Robert
loved the way you managed to fit in all the endless repeats that are thrown at us at this time of year.
I'm going to leave the 'Jack' family alone for a week now, but work on a New Year's Eve party theme for them. That should be fun and fireworks. |
Natalie Severn
Detective Sergeant
Username: Severn
Post Number: 125
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, December 25, 2003 - 12:14 pm: |
|
Robert and AP-Looking forward to the New Year Party theme.Have a good Christmas.
Both the above were great fun to read!
Best Natalie. |
Natalie Severn
Detective Sergeant
Username: Severn
Post Number: 126
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, December 25, 2003 - 12:14 pm: |
|
Robert and AP-Looking forward to the New Year Party theme.Have a good Christmas.
Both the above were great fun to read!
Best Natalie. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1646
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, December 25, 2003 - 12:21 pm: |
|
Thanks AP. The New Year idea sounds fun. Maybe I can knock up a New Year honours list.
Robert |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1647
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, December 25, 2003 - 12:25 pm: |
|
Thanks Natalie. You too!
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 633
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, December 27, 2003 - 10:15 am: |
|
New Year’s Eve Fancy Dress Party at Jack’s House 1.
Jack decided to go as a police constable to the fancy dress party being held at his family home in Whitechapel for New Year’s Eve.
‘So kind of you dear uncle,’ Jack cried to his uncle Charles. ‘To obtain for me this full uniform of one of your patrolling constables! Why I even have a whistle and a truncheon and could easily pass for one of your men about his lawful business!’
‘Think nothing of it my dear boy,’ enthused uncle Charles as he adjusted the gay black bonnet adorned with cornflowers perched above his long flowing blond wig, and then carefully smoothed his voluminous petticoats and dresses down around his somewhat portly figure. ‘After all, I am in charge of supplies these days at the Yard, so it is a mere trifle.’
‘Oh, poor uncle Charles!’ sympathised Jack. ‘You must still smart from being hastily and unfairly removed from active duty, and then being bound to a desk, and for such a triviality as shooting the Home Secretary in both legs!’
Charles growled profanities concerning Catholics into the mirror as he applied his lipstick and blusher. When he was satisfied with the result he turned to Jack and demanded:
‘Well?! What do you think of your dear old uncle Charles as a Whitechapel whore?’
Jack blushed bright crimson and cried joyfully:
‘Why uncle Charles! I could stab you this very minute and gut you like a fish!’
‘That good, eh my boy?’ chuckled uncle Charles and then quickly dodged the vicious eight inch blade that almost sliced his nose off.
‘Now, now my dear boy, save that for later,’ he chided. ‘We don’t want to spoil the evening for your mother and aunt and their guests.’
Jack took uncle Charles by the arm and they skipped gaily from the dressing room and began making their way down the stairs to greet the many guests who had already arrived for the fancy dress party.
Great care had been exercised with the preparation of the invitation cards - a task entrusted to young Jack on account of his clerical skills - and it had been stressed on the cards that guests would be ill-advised to arrive at the fancy dress party dressed as either nuns, Catholic bishops, Jesuit priests or even the Pope himself.
However as uncle Charles and Jack descended the staircase to join the happy throng, uncle Charles fell back against the wall as if he had been struck full in the face.
‘Uncle Charles!’ cried Jack. ’Have you a fit or stroke upon you sir?’
‘Avast!’ roared uncle Charles and without a by your leave pulled a small derringer from his stocking top and smartly and promptly - with a single bullet - shot dead Inspector Race of the Metropolitan Police Force who with great misfortune had decided to attend the party dressed as a Catholic nun of the Sisters of Mercy.
‘Good shot sir!’ screamed Jack.
‘Thank you, dear nephew, would you do something with the remains?’
‘My pleasure, sir!’ Jack cried and took to sharpening his blade on a nearby whetstone, which were placed like ashtrays in the household for such purpose.
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Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1660
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, December 27, 2003 - 11:02 am: |
|
More merriment at home with the Cutbushes, all told with gusto and some really good laughs. I'm enjoying this AP, and looking forward to Part Two.
Robert |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1662
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, December 27, 2003 - 12:56 pm: |
|
MAY OLD ACQUAINTANCE
Old 88 is staggering out,
Bad farewell in beery shout
And maybe Polly's drink-blurred grin
Is doubly blurred by New Year gin.
So Polly Nichols slowly dies,
While somewhere stubborn tempers rise
With blows on breasts to mar the cheer :
Annie's gone, her soap's still here.
John Kelly has another mate
(Although she cannot sing like Kate
And all her jokes fall flat and lame.
Still, at least she's made the same).
New people live in Room Thirteen :
That sad and soul-deserted scene
Nothing now is left to recall,
Save Mary's blood upon the wall.
Big Ben chimes, the pub till rings,
The revellers hope for the usual things.
So welcome the year with clinking toasts -
Jack and the girls are but ghosts.
Robert
|
Natalie Severn
Detective Sergeant
Username: Severn
Post Number: 129
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, December 27, 2003 - 1:17 pm: |
|
Hi AP just loved the camped up fast paced movements great fun too! Natalie. |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 634
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, December 27, 2003 - 1:20 pm: |
|
Robert
a masterpiece, somewhere between 'up the junction' by Squeeze and 'Would you still know me now' by Byron (probably wrong title but his best poem). Enjoyed every last drop of a truly excellent bottle.
I must set meself to some serious stuff soon or I shall end up as a drunken rambler at the local pub.
I'm of a mind to think that was your best poesie yet.
Thank you for the kind comments, part two in prep. |
Natalie Severn
Detective Sergeant
Username: Severn
Post Number: 131
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, December 27, 2003 - 1:26 pm: |
|
Very much liked the last verse Robert -the till being what makes this[and today"s] world go round
-no matter what!Natalie |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1663
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, December 27, 2003 - 3:24 pm: |
|
Thanks AP, Natalie
AP, while you're doing your party I'll think about a New Year Honours story. I have just the right honour for Uncle Charles.
Robert |
Suzi Hanney
Detective Sergeant
Username: Suzi
Post Number: 73
Registered: 7-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, December 27, 2003 - 7:38 pm: |
|
Hi Robert
What about to the tune of Ratcliff Highway
"As I was a coming by Thrawl Street
The murdered woman did say
Oh Hutchy can you lend me sixpence
Then rambled on,on her way
A strangercame rolling up to her
His hand on her shoulder did lay
Saying something,just silent not pleasant
And then they did wander away..
Carry on chaps..this is coming off the top of my head!!
Cheers
Suzi hic!! |
|
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