Posted by: suemason | October 18, 2009

Four go to Misty Moor

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The day had begun early with Timmy gulping down his breakfast of fresh, home-cured bacon and newly laid eggs, which had been collected fresh from the farm that morning: he hoped he would soon be off the leash.

‘Golly, only one week left before the clocks go back and then there will be no chance left for an adventure’, said one of them, patting Timmy fondly.

Timmy panted.

‘Lets go across Misty Moor, and see what spies and insurgents are around and then we can save the country. Our carbon footprint can wait’.

‘What a jolly super wizard idea’, they all chorused and climbed into their Jupiters.

Yes, Sunday and there were four Jowett Jupiters on the roads between Cheshire and Derbyshire. On what might be the last outing before winter really set in, what with the clocks going back the next week and the four putting on their winter muffs and vests, they set out to have a ripping adventure.

They intended to go to Kirrin Island, but settled for Hathersage in the Peak District instead and so with tops off and gloves on, up hill and down Miller’s Dale they went.

The road unwound in front of them bending and twisting. Of course today it was choked with Sunday motorists: old men in flat caps; caravans, and those dreadful oiks on motorbikes. They were bound to be up to no good, what with their tight leather trousers; long, black-laced boots and masked faces. And no doubt they had no road tax or insurance, either.

The hills were no problem and the Famous Four were awfully good at pulling so they arrived in Hathersage, cold but ready for a slap up meal in the George Hotel.

Although the Hotel was full of skinny women and smartly dressed men, undoubtedly they were famous scientists doing top secret work for the governement (….blah blah blah atom bomb;….. blah blah expenses) they nevertheless did manage to consume heaps of ham sandwiches and lashings and lashings of tea.

No adventure would be complete without a visit to Uncle Alastair, but that’s a new story for another day.

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Responses

  1. Uncle Alastair or should that be Uncle Quentin, here, Those kids made a dreadful noise all afternoon, how is a an inventor to do anything.

    It always seem that when they get together that they always seem to end up in appalling trouble and I do have to say I wish they would go back to lashings of Ginger Beer as all that caffeine in the tea will only keep them awake at night.

  2. I was keeping it safe from any litigation actions from Ms Blyton’s descendants hence no Uncle Quentin.

    As for the lashings….spare the rod and spoil the child.

  3. I would imagine Ms Blytons descendants are somewhat punch drunk from the onslaught of the politically correct brigade who seem to take offence at some of the characters in her books, but I do agree that good old prudence should get an airing from time to time.
    I seem to recall that many many years ago that you were the principal of an educational establishment, am a little concerned that there may be some come back if lashings were administered so as not to spoil the young charges you were entrusted with. It may have been of course prior to any concerns regarding human rights etc. But since the slave trade was abolished in 1833 whacking the bodies of impressionable young minds has been increasingly frowned upon. To the extent that it is forbidden by law. This commenced in 1986 in state schools and 1998 was extended to public schools.

  4. Corrections: despite the air of authority and the sense of fear that I undoubtedly instill in adult minds, I was not the principal of the educational establishment. That honour went to some very ‘interesting’ characters.
    Sadly, I was unable to instill that same sort of fear in the young (who can) and I read with interest now the names of pupils who have passed through my hands and into jail: not directly of course.
    At my first teaching job in Scotland, I was given a register and a ‘tawse’ (a leather belt with a split end), for helping young minds to concentrate. No directions for use, of either. I screwed up the register and never used the Tawse.

    • I am surrounded by educators, Wife , Sister in law, Brother in law, one gone bad, who ended up as an itinerant poet and of course our belt swishing (or not) correspondent. So I speak with some authority when I say, having 30+ young people hanging on ones words tends to, turn, an educator and most seem to suffer with delusions of grandeur to a greater or lesser degree.

  5. Timmy hasn’t been called Timmy since 1957
    ,and if he ever hears it in contemporary circles, Violet Elizabeth will be absolutely no match for him–also Timmy has not panted since about 1995. So there!!!
    TB

  6. Memory has failed, Was Violet Elizabeth Both from Jennings and Darbyshire (or should that be Jennings and Derbyshire) or the”Just William” books, I favour the later as most likely. But here’s a test, what was Williams older sister (Urgh) called?

    I trust that TB has been or is about to be released from that leash, so vividly portrayed.


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