The Darling Buds of June

THE DARLING
BUDS OF JUNE

Copyright by
Frankie Lassut 2015

Published by
Wonky Books at Smashwords

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EPUB ISBN:
978-1- 910103-66-1

EBOOK ISBN:
978-1-910103-67-8

This is a
little bit of daftness for Shakespeare fans or non-Shakey fans who
fancy a smile or two, and maybe especially those who had
Shakespeare rammed down their throat at school in the name of
education. It is mostly true, but ok, the true bits have been
coloured in a little to make it more interesting. It’s written in
my own style which I call Friction i.e. fact and fiction. The
trouble is, when publishing, there is no button for Friction; so I
thought I’d tell you here (which I think is very nice of me).

This goofy
story is based in the West Midland’s Hamlet of Alcester. It was
born through the genuine animosity between said town and Stratford
Upon Avon and nearby as the crow flies; after it has nabbed some of
someone’s pint in Stratford ... (still, it was the happiest crow in
Warwickshire for a short while). Amusingly, I actually got told off
by a lady in the early days of this little work, because she was
upset with me calling the place Stratford On Avon; I didn’t realise
I was being an ignorant jerk. She kindly corrected me, “It’s ‘Apon’
dear, ‘Apon’!” Very sorry, please accept my most humble apologies.
Interestingly, the name Avon, the base for the Apon, comes from the
Welsh for river i.e. afon, or something like that. I heard that on
Who Wants to be a Millionaire.

The people of
Alcester, the ones I knew, were in a state of being pleasantly
narked each time Stratford was mentioned because the ‘Apon’ mob
were getting lots of tourism grant money while ‘they’ were being
overlooked (grrrr!). That’s because there is, erm, nothing much in
Alcester and they have no claim to fame. I have though seen a
lovely white mallard on the river, a little albino quacker ... not
quite a swan, but nevertheless it was, erm, an albino mallard and
not an ugly duckling. But Stratford aside, Alcester couldn’t even
get on with their direct neighbours in posher Oversley Green
because of property price differences. Maybe they still can’t? The
Oversley Greenies don’t seem to mind so much. They still enjoy
going shopping in Alcester for expensive antiques, because their
Rollers can just fit in the main street. They told me all this in
the local cafe and so, I thought it would be nice to do something
for them tourist-wise, because I’m basically, extremely lovely and
quite creative in a mad sort of way. Quite what though? I had no
idea, but, when you’re into the arts, the Muse is never far away
when the artist has been triggered, or ‘inspired’ as it’s
called.

On the way back
to Coventry in the car after the first visit, having fun giving our
photography to people with outlets who would be kind enough to
stock it, Evo drove while I snoozed, and then it began ... the
story began to write itself in my mind, with the usual picture show
(it’s brilliant in my head sometimes) and we both had a good laugh.
The only slight glitch was, Alcester people didn’t laugh because,
unfortunately, they can’t laugh at themselves; a big problem for
‘anyone’ (don’t take life so seriously?). Also, the head of the
local writing group didn’t like me, or the idea, because he didn’t
get the inspiration (what’s the name of that group? JLS! Insert e a
o & u?) ... I’m not laughing, honest. Maybe he just didn’t ask
‘his’ muse.

This then is a
bit of spoofy fun, so I hope you enjoy it.

PS. We went to
Stratford one morning and as it is the cleanest town on the planet,
I photographed all the litter on the way to the centre (the people
who live there are like city folk and I thought Stratford folk were
disciples of Mrs Bucket). I used some of the pics in the book ... a
bit cheeky, but warts maybe need to be seen when the town council
is in obvious denial. I sent the shots to the Lord Mayor, but
received no response ... not even sued (for publicity). I bet they
cleaned up though? I may never know.

Here’s a good
question: ‘could’ you help me P-T-Off ... read this and tell your
friends???

Ok, let me sort
of begin again, like Michael Finnegan. I’ll take his place:

‘There was a
young man called Frankie Finnegan

Who grew some
creative stuff on Alcester’s sheninigan

Will the wind
come out and blow it innagen?

Poor old
Frankie Finnegan, getting stick-aggen’.

This next bit
contains their old (new) claim to fame which my muse kindly gave me
(I don’t think Muses drink), so don’t blame me, I’m just the
messenger, the humble servant of my Musey Woozey.

ALCESTER.

Who has heard
of Alcester? 9.99% of the people I’ve asked haven’t. It’s not good
that, for a town wanting ‘visibility’, that people don’t know about
and it doubly doesn’t help living next door to someone famous
(probably because of you too, which makes it worse; I’ll tell you
soon) ..
.

But hey! Never
mind bloody ‘Apon’ Stratford! Because you see, Alcester has its own
claim to fame, and now that the gift horse (me) has turned up with
a fun opportunity, the brave and enterprising people of Alcester
are going to delight the public with this treasure they have
realised they have thanks to a fabulous writer from Coventry (me)
who did a pile of research. They are now to have their very OWN
Bard! (Who was also Shakey’s real life flesh and blood ‘Muse’).

Eventually you
see, poverty begins to get annoying, and when you see a
neighbouring town being showered with gold and jewels type
development funding, largely because of the efforts of one of
‘your’ children ...all they need is their star’s gravestone back to
show to the tourists. Stratford Council members nicked it you see.
There again, you ‘can’ understand Stratford Apon Avon’s
unwillingness to have this known. Alcester?! It must be like having
dirt on the bottom of your shoe to Stratford people with power.

Alcester is the
‘real’ jewel of Warwickshire and was the home of ... of ...

‘Gillian
Benedict’, 1554-1614, who married Stan Stashaway 1544-1620. Gillian
Stashaway née Benedict was a cleaning maid, but she had a brilliant
talent, she was a poet and a storyteller, but what’s more, she was
an entertainer. She didn’t see herself as a coaxer of smiles
though, she was a serious writer and I would guess that she didn’t
much care for it if anyone found her works slightly less than
purist, connoisseur serious.
In other
words, she thought she was good, and, she was so bad, she was; but
she wasn’t good, she was brilliant.
This exhaustively
researched story should therefore deee-light the Shakespeare
scholars, the hardest, most steadfast purist and Melvyn Bragg (I
worked with his cousin once, so I know that’s true). A lot of the
information was given to me by a mole that I shall not name and to
whom I shall be grateful for life. My mole is a member of a group
of Alcestrians who have a monthly meeting to discuss tourism … read
on:

A message from
some of the friendly, tourism hungry people of Alcester, or as they
are known the Friends of Alcester Tourist Board, or the FAT B’s, a
name which is sometimes used in fun making, but none of them are
fat anyway, but most of them are getting on a bit, so they’re
bored; they have drunk all of the Summer wine. But they did save
all the bottles for the next fermentation.

“Hello reader,
I’m the Mole, let me tell you about our as yet almost unknown to
the world, fame. Gillian Stashaway née Benedict, Shakespeare’s
contemporary, was/is ‘our’ under rated Bard, or certainly the
inspiration (Muse) and provider of the raw material for William;
and we the FAT B’s, fine Alcestrians, think that it is time that
she was recognised, and then WE too can have a theatre! ‘The Royal
Stashaway Albino Mallard Theatre’ perhaps? Unfortunately for us,
most of Gillian’s great works were somehow acquired by and revamped
by Shakespeare who added some boredom it must be said, and as a
result, Gillian was condemned to live a life of frustration and
hovered near poverty in his literary shadow. Personally, I (ME!)
think that she had a thing going with Will (her lover?) and
encouraged him when she knew he could redo her works for the taste
of a snobby public, who didn’t take to her brilliant, lighter, more
amusing style. Actually, she provided much inspiration for William
i.e. she woke him up from his depression as he wasn’t producing
anything good as his muse was on leave; couldn’t get through to him
because William drank heavily. What is it with these poets and
writers? They drink because they’re miserable as their muse can’t
get information into their poor beleaguered mind, because they
drink. They then call it writers block, which is misery producing
so they have a drink. What a vicious circle. In other words though,
she ‘woke’ him. We can then say with some degree of accuracy,
Gillian Wakes Shakespeare, or ... Wakesspeare. We can drop one of
the S’s .. Wakes-peare? So, she will therefore be called Gillian
Stashaway née Benedict ‘nay’ Wakespeare. There will be times when
I, the author, will get fed up of writing all that envelope busting
name out and simply call her Gillian W, Gillian nay W, or Gillian
Stashaway née Benedict ... oh whatever, you’ll know who I mean.
Similarly with ‘I’ when the mole is speaking, as it may also be me,
or me by myself, so please treat the mole and I as the same person.
Yes, well anyway, God gave Gillian a great talent, but, it was for
a slightly different audience than the one William catered for, so
all he did was give her work a bit of a tweak. Good Lord, Stratford
owes Alcester everything!” You got all that? I need a drink.
Museless times when writing.

I (author) have
had similar experiences, both sides of the coin. I have been unable
to write anything, but have been only too happy to rewrite someone
else’s work, or vice versa. It’s happening right now. I started a
house newspaper, which makes fun of other guests. One of them
decided to take over and made up a new name for the paper, and
tried to write articles, but couldn’t. So, being un-jealous and
un-angry about this hostile takeover, I wrote an example, he took
it and said “No, noooo ...’you want it like this’. He re-wrote it,
gave it to everyone, and took credit. Ho, ho, dead amusing.

Gillian
Wakespeare 1554-1614 ... that’s better, not so much of a change now
when Stratford is shoved into second place soon, the public will
soon get used to it. It’s great being a creative genius. Ok, it’s a
few years since I wrote this the first time and I used Wakespeare
back then and I know now (5 minutes back on a web search it’s 3
Jan
uary
2015 now) that it has been used
before, but I had never heard it, except when it popped into my
head in the car. So, my version is the best and that’s that.

Ever seen that
‘Dead Famous’ programme? The guy was finding relics i.e. bits of
famous people who were dead (to state the obvious). He was then DNA
testing the bits to find out why they actually died, or things
about them. He actually found Napoleon’s willy, which didn’t need a
big box at all (there are no pictures of Josephine smiling, never
mind laughing). Maybe then Stan was like Napoleon in that
department, but Willy Shakespeare lived up to his name? I bet his
nickname was big willy. I wonder if Anne knew of the affair? Hmmmm?
That would have led to a great bitch fight on the streets of either
Stratford or Alcester. Maybe then Gillian wasn’t so ‘frustrated’?
And maybe William slipped her a few, erm ... groats?

Her loving
husband, Stan Stashaway
,
was an expert at
fooling the Inland Revenue with the small groatage they had from
Gillian’s local, on the spot love poems (population boosters). It’s
a pity he didn’t write an advice booklet (or did he?) Here then,
for your pleasure, is a short, excellent piece of work by Gillian,
from our secret archives which we ‘may’ now dust off. What a
‘great’ idea! We could get this fabulous Coventry writer to do some
more and actually have a Wakespeare ‘selection’ in our church. That
would amuse the tourists!

An early
sonnet, by Gillian Stashaway née Benedict nay Wakespeare!

Ahhhh! Bugger
it. By OUR Gillian!

The Darling
Buds of June.