The Last Laugh ( VILLAGE TALES EP. 12 )

A new development on the edge of the village becomes the focus of one person’s ire.

 Determined her dog walking routine would prevail, if only to annoy the newcomers,

 she could have had no idea how much that would benefit them.

During the eighties a development of ‘executive homes’ called Mill Rise was granted planning permission on the site of an old brickworks to the north of the village. Some of the development backs onto the edge of the village and consequently there was a fair bit of protest. Any change is liable to bring some objection, especially if it disturbs our routine and Liz Winton was in the vanguard as it was her routine it disturbed most. It was where she used to walk her Dante, a manic Cocker Spaniel. Apparently it was called Dante because as a small pup it was very cute, aren’t they all, and already exhibiting its manic nature it made her, and everyone else, laugh and go ‘Ah’ as people do. Liz being an academic who liked to take every opportunity to advertise the fact, put those two qualities together and whereas most of us would be happy with a dog called Derek or Gerald, she chose Dante as a ‘Divine Comedy’ seemed to sum up the dog’s character but was a bit of a mouthful to shout across the common if the dog went off on one, which it was bound to. Why some dogs want to escape from their owners can be a puzzle however not in Dante’s case. What Dave at the pub would say, ever the perceptive landlord, was what couldn’t be understood was why it ever came back. 

‘Food,’ was my answer to that.

‘Not in a dog’s case,’ he answered, ‘a cat definitely. I’ve had friends lose their cats only to find that a neighbour thought they were a stray, felt sorry for them. fed them, and then couldn’t get rid of them. Now my Roman . . . ‘

‘Your German Shepherd?’

‘Yeh, it would rather starve under you feet rather than leave your side.’

‘They are very faithful.’

‘You might say, stupidly so, or you might say, wonderfully so. They’re a pack animal, and your the alpha male. Well not you, in Roman’s case, me.’

So, getting back to my tale, Liz Winton gets a petition together in the village and surrounding area. She tries to get Time Team involved, bat conservation, footpaths protection, contacts wild life organisations to see if they can find a rare plant or something threatened. Paul at the shop told me she even asked him where she could buy some rare orchids,

‘Dunno,’ he told her, ‘that’s the nature of rare orchids, they’re not very common.’

She tried everything, but the old brickworks were, and no matter what you think of Mill Rise, a worse blot on the landscape than a new development. It was often used as a waste dump and when the rat population expanded some of the village boys organised shooting parties taking their twotwo air rifles and number of terriers. The terriers spent more time fighting each other than killing any rats and contributed to the general cacophony enjoyed by the rest of us on what used to be a quiet summer’s evening.

The meeting in the village hall was a steamy affair, being held on one of the hottest days of the year didn’t help. Most people came with their minds made up and no amount of argument was going to change them. The village was divided so when the development went ahead there were those that looked forward to ‘new blood’ revitalising the village and those that just wanted blood, and of those Liz Winton was the most thirsty. Anything she could do or say to hinder the development she did. Noise, mud on the road, smoke, bad language, site security, all prompted her to write to the press, the council, to her MP any pressure group from whom she could get support.

The Liz Wintons of this world can be a right pain, but only if we don’t agree with them, or think their cause is unjust. If they are fighting for something you believe in or think admirable, like saving bees or reducing plastic, then they’re gold dust, few of us have the energy and the dogged determination.

Even when the ‘risers’ as they were called had moved in, Liz was determined not to be diverted from the route she took previously. Access to Mill Rise was not on the village side due to planning deciding that the additional traffic was a danger spilling out onto our narrow high street that a hundred years ago had five or six shops, now only the village stores run by Paul. Part of the footpath that Liz always used to walk her dog had been preserved but now it ended in the middle of Mill Rise. From there she could exit onto the main road, from which she could continue on the footpath up to the common. It wasn’t the walk it used to be that skirted the old brickworks and it meant using a bit of road but her two walks a day had changed little. To Dante the change was exhilarating. The lack of restricting fences and hedgerows around houses meant his roaming knew no bounds, or boundaries. Everything was worth investigating especially a gate left open to a rear garden, or one he could get over or under, and then delight, someone or something to play with. You may think that in such an environment he should have been on a lead, and you’d be right however that was not Liz’s intention. Her dog’s activity and her calling for him was to remind the residents that they had trampled on her routine and they were not wanted, and never would be. But to every action there is a consequence.

Dante had been missing amongst the six houses of Mill Rise for more than ten minutes. Liz presumed having investigated all the cul-de-sac could offer, he’d gone on ahead. Up on the common of Dante there was no sign. After twenty minutes Liz turned back towards the Rise to be confronted by an irate resident with Dante being held firmly by the throat, actually it was by the collar, but the intention would have been the throat and the desired outcome would have been strangulation. Apparently legal proceedings were threatened, Dante being ‘put down’ was definitely seen by the resident as the favoured option.

The result of Dante’s adventure was revealed ten or so weeks later when one of Mr. and Mrs. Carbright’s pedigree Poodles, called Marni, gave birth to six mongrel pups. It was Dave at the pub who, when asked what they looked like, answered,

‘Well, a cross between a Poodle and a Cocker, what else?’

Someone then suggested they be called a Pooker, but Terry Marshal who is a film buff said that was an imaginary six foot three and a half inch rabbit named Harvey in the 1950 film of the same name starring James Stewart. Somebody then said Terry should get a life. Another said they could be called Cockerpoos, to which there was much laughter at the idea that anything, not least a dog, could have such a ridiculous name.

At over a thousand pounds a time for a Cockerpoo Mr. and Mrs. Carbright are definitely having the last laugh.

Listen to Village Tales and other short stories from the HONKEYMOON CAFE

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Written and read by Barkley Johnson.