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| Life And Times of Nestor Horaatio Plimsoll 6th
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Nessy found after five days of riding inside or atop the coach he was quite spanked out. He had even talked the driver into letting him hang on the sides a while like some of the grown men did. A man was allowed to get a foot hold on the sill of the windows and hold with all his might to the trim around the rail at the top of the coach. Just above the window where the windows would have a curtain inside for shade and some dust covering, there were also a set of 'rods'. These were for outside curtains that helped keep out a bit more cold for the wintry days. Nessy found himself greatful for the provision of very cold day travel. He was not tall enough to hang in the usual way but he could certainly do it right on these rods Nessy found he could "hang' for quite a while. Grown men would have to crouch to hang onto the rods. They were at a disadvantge on that one way. He was doing just fine with them. They were his backside's deliverence. He didn't know what the poor lady passangers did.... the driver said "they sat their haunches on Gods cushions." He hadn't been able to make sense of that... did it mean white petty coats? Well most Cornwall ladies had red flannel underthings. Least wise in the winter they did. His own ma'm had several of white and unbleached muslim and red wool and flannel too. Ahhh well it didn't matter to much. It was his bottom that he had to think about. To solve his problem he elected to walk several miles, to the next station and resume riding from there. He knew he was bruised in multi colors. He simply had, had to do something! Even sitting on his satchel had been a problem of its' own. For a few hours on a ride he had done well enough but the friction and bumping on the stachel had threathened to blister him. "Now that was just too much!"
Nessy had determined to walk a leg of the journey and resume riding when he was to get aboard a boat or ferry, at the border. He parents might not approve but to save his his poor little hide measures must be taken!!
The coach came to its' 'nooning' stop'. Here every one would eat and nap at the station for about an hour and a half. Then the ride would resume. Here Nestor Horaatio Plimsoll hatched his hide saving plan. He would buy a pasty and eat half then slip away quietly and begin to walk across the countryside. The road might be rather dangerous. Twice already the coach drivers had outrun some pitiful Highwaymen, so best a little squirt like him don't donate to some one elses' pockets.
Nestor bought his 'pasty' as his people called them. It was no Cornwall delight, something other, but it would do for now. Nessy casually went and sat beneath a scrubby tree. He ate about half his pie and shoved the rest into his small satchel. He thought if he removed his cap he might not look so alien in this more northy country. He waited about half an hour and just edged his way closer to and across the roadway. Soon he was over a single old fence and on his merry way. His tum groweled and gurgled in a most ominous way....and he hoped it was not a disagreement with his pie. In about an hour he discovered it was a disagreement with something. He would never know if it was pie or not.
Nessy came to several streams but was loathe to try a drink. He was miserable. He stomeach cramped every so often and he releived himself too often. He was sure he might die right off, if this kept up. And, if he couldn't have a hero's death at sea, he wanted to at least, die quickly. He walked each time his innards settled a bit. The walking felt miracules, between bouts of what ever had a hold of him. He felt better when he finally relieved himself too. His thirst grew and he knew sooner or later he had to swallow some water. He feared it would sour his stomach the worse. He head was light but did not ache. He was feeling sick but not to awfully weak. He walked a little further and finally lay across a flat rock to sip a drink of the cool water. He kept himself strewn across the rock and dozed a bit. When he woke he sipped a bit more water. He was feeling his stomach beginning to protest when he heard a bell. At least he thought it was a bell. Then he heard it again. He stood a bit and wobbled several more steps before the urge to relive himself overcame him again. He looked about and dashed (he thought he was dashing) again behind the gorse bush. He had not grabbed his satchel. He whirled around to look for it. There on the falt rock that jutted to the stream was a boy and two goats. The boy was lookin' in his bag. "here now, that'b e maye belongin's" blurted out Nestor.
"Oh so it's yours is it?" asked a younger boys voice. Me goats was nosin' in there. You ought nota' bought ' no pie at the station. Mary Smithsons' a right bad at cookin' em' Me mum says she's heavy to the grease and says t'aint' always fresh." Ay guess nawt' replied Nessy, and stumbled up to his things. You from the south then?"The younger boys voice was full of energy and curiosity. Nowt sayin' ouwt-'whright", replied Nestor. No matter mate, its' sure 'nuff in your words when you talk out." Nestor was not in a mood to be social but he would ask for directions if he could. Aye't 'might be a'that. He tried to smile. he managed more of pale lear. Where's 'tha' nearest ford to the border of here?" He hoped he sounded confident. Instead he sounded like a water cask, being sloshed. His stomach rumbled, and gurgled aloud, and he felt the early twinges of his trouble returning. Goa,n you sound like a fish floppin' on the floor, said the younger lad. My names Tom Towry, he stuck out his filthy hand to shake. Nestor reached for it and said his nick name, Nessy' "... then said "'s'cuse me Tom," and bolted back for the gorse bushes.
Tom and his goats escorted "Nessy" to his thatch roofed home, Tom's mother dosed him with a warm tea, guaranteed to dispell Mary Smithison's pie attack and fixed him a pallet to lie upon. With no fever and the remainig pie portion as evidence, she knew the illness would soon pass. Yes she told Nestor "All will soon pass" Soon Nessy slept, he went outside only once more before finding blessed sleep. The goat was given the pie and never did Nestor Horaatio Plimsoll ever ask as to the fate of the pie, not for the rest of his life.
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Posted by lampoil on 2008-07-13 03:41:55 | Rating: | Views: 97
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Lovely as usual, I wondered what happened to you Lampoil (Writing of course)
Agape
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Posted by Christianthoughts
on 2008-07-13 19:45:19
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Thanks been a bit under the weather and getting my little one ready for kindergarten
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Posted by lampoil
on 2008-07-13 22:37:22
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Bless. Good to see you better now
Agape
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Posted by Christianthoughts
on 2008-07-14 16:20:11
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glad you like them Brux :) thank you
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Posted by lampoil
on 2008-07-29 21:30:59
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Oh the dreaded stomach issues. I've battled them myself for years. They've never really found the cause. The doctors tell me it's IBS, not sure I believe that. Anyway this read had me in the mind frame of all that crampin'!
This wouldn't be your grand father or some distant family member's story would it?
Just wondering where you came up with all the details.
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Posted by anotherdaze
on 2008-09-29 08:26:58
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