Jackanory - Chapter One

CHAPTER - ONE

This is the story of a man called Jack whose real name trips lightly
from our tongues but best not be mentioned in case of legal
repercussions. A man of substance, style and many a tall tale. Not to
be confused with Jack and the Beanstalk, but there again he may well
have been there and planted them beans. If that was the case then he
would have obviously of bought these special beans on one of his trips
to foreign parts where not many white settlers have been before. Only
having been beaten to certain countries by a handful of people such as
the likes of Christopher Columbus, Sir Francis Drake or even Captain
Picard of the Starship Enterprise.

"Captains Log star date 2045 in the Ionian Galaxy the record has shown
that on the evening shift the bridge commander was taken suddenly ill
with stomach pains due to the dodgy chilli from the officer's mess.
Obviously an allergic reaction that some people have to certain foods."
Doctor Zo?gre from the ships surgery was called and she said "this is
obviously just another tall story from Jackanory"

Back in the parallel universe of the lunar cycle in the 21st century on
planet earth, we visit Jacks humble abode. A very small, dark and dingy
two bedroom hovel on Spleckbur Close. A ramshackle abode from the wrong
side of town frequented by prostitutes, pimps and other lowlifes such
as drug dealers. As night time fell the tiny cul-de-sac came alive.
Street racers were put through their paces to see who could burn the
most rubber and squeal round in circles of smoke. After their fun the
burnt out shells of stolen automobiles lay abandoned on verges amongst
scarred trees and rotting refuse.

Wellord was not a friendly area to be in after dark. The drug barons
and gang members ruled the streets with such ferocity that the Police
called it a 'No go area'. Gangs from the neighbouring area of Greys
Wick were as ferocious and lethal in dealing out punishments to
trespassers after dark or other gang soldiers from Wellord.

The leader of these rebels in crime from Wellord was our very own Jack.
His real name was Arnold Nory son of a pig farmer. Who like his son had
a small holding of twenty acres on the outskirts of the county town of
Chestdore. Jack ruled his mob with a rod of iron although he was well
liked due to the fact that he did tell a damn fine story around the
fire on a cold evening. Hence the name Jack-A-Nory, but he was a bit
touchy about this and on more than one occasion had killed someone who
had tried to take the piss. He'd take them into a darkened room and
tell them his memoirs - after many hours of verbal abuse they'd be
found drowned with their heads in buckets of water with the most pained
expressions - they couldn't take any more.

Warring factions from neighbouring gangs in Greys Wick made their way
up through the old village square to recky the area beyond the old grey
stone church. With its tall stone tower at one end it was an obvious
spot to climb and survey Wellord's dingy streets. Greys Wick also had
many evil and ruthless gangs all of which showed no mercy to all any
late revellers or intruders from neighbouring areas. All these gangs
had their Captains and soldiers but the leader of them all was an old
and very wise sage called Maurice, who although having been born in the
old work house in Wellord had in fact been evicted from the area after
being put in the stocks for a week for stealing bread.

After this humiliating event and subsequent nervous breakdown, he had
an avid hatred for Wellord and all its occupants which took over
Maurice's mind. Never quite the same after that and with an inept
stutter to make his-self even less understood he fought his way back
with acts of mindless vengeance. As verbal commands were a tad on the
slow side, sign language was a useful way to communicate by using
fingers, fists and twitching (more commonly known as winking).

When asked on his opinion of Maurice, Jack had in fact called him "the
biggest winker he'd ever met". But that was probably because Maurice
had just head butted poor old Jack. Maurice was standing on a box at
the time.

Jack's troops had been successful in recent raids across the border
these past months and had kicked ass on more than one occasion. With
this to hand Maurice and his Captains had agreed to band their gangs
together to make a formidable force to hit Jack and his fat cats of
Wellord where it hurt most. A late night hit was planned to hit the
fuel dumps at Spleckbur Close causing turmoil and disarray for weeks
ahead. The headquarters for these attacks were planned in one of the
old age pensioners bungalows that sheltered in the trees behind the old
grey stone church. Below the bungalow in an old disused air raid
shelter left over from the Second World War a long wooden table stood.
The various Captains sat facing each other headed by Maurice like
Richard the Lionheart and his knights of the round table.

That night they swore an oath, an allegiance to Maurice to rid
themselves of this tyrant called Jack. An evil warlord who'd bored to
death more innocent victims than Saddam Hussein had gassed Kurds.

Maurice's strongest and most evil henchman was a man called "Clint". An
ugly looking sonofabitch who had more scars from near death experiences
than you'd care to witness. Clint was not from this part of the world
as his mother had been ravaged by a Peruvian llama herder on a holiday
to South American. The local police were informed and on the look out
for a woolly jumper but as they all looked very similar she couldn't
pick the culprit out from a line-up of other llamas. The upside of this
was however that he didn't feel the cold, never suffered from altitude
sickness and was an excellent rock climber. Clint had scaled the sides
of the tower at the southern end of the old grey stone church to survey
the area that lay westwards to Wellord. It was quiet as many of the
soldiers from Jack's wretched army were still in a drunken slumber from
the previous evenings night of debauchery and sordid goings on. This
was a good time to strike.