The Gibbet and the Beast of New House Farm.

As I walked past the end of Church Lane tonight, it struck me that here would be the perfect place to site the Roston and Norbury gibbet.  It’s just about midway between the village and the hamlet, and Church Lane is one of the two roads that connect them. (Mill Lane is the other, but the only suitable junction on Mill Lane – for you need at least a T junction, if not a crossroads, for a gibbet so that the ghost of the departed doesn’t know which way to go – is slap bang outside the pub. That wouldn’t do, would it, since the ghost of the departed wouldn’t have any difficulty at all deciding which way to go.) And, me being me, a little rhyme jumped into my still beleaguered brain.

I saw a dead man hanging high

Upon the gallows tree

He raised his head as I walked by

And I saw that it was me

This is what comes of having ever depleting faith in the future.

And then, as I made my way homeward, I saw the unmistakeable lines of a fearsome beast watching my approach. Its implacable stillness sent a ripple of consternation through my veins, even though I knew it was only the rottweiler from New House Farm. Only the rottweiler? I’ve met him a few times in the bright light of day, but who knows what murderous machinations might infect the mind of a fearsome beast once night has fallen on The Shire?

His deep, powerful frame was scantily picked out by a little skim light from the security lamp in the yard, but mostly he was silhouetted against a bright wall adjacent to the gate – head held high, ears raised, and his attention turned on me. I stopped as I approached him, asked him whether he’d been watching The Omen or something, and invited him to come and say hello. He did, and after much head stroking and side slapping, he allowed me safe passage.

Something tells me I should go get a life. Right now, I’m going to get a cup of tea.