Nah then folks, during the 60s..

yep bodie,the mans a genius.i"ve read weerze mi dad and its good..but zakes is exceptionally brill.like you say if he wrote a book it would be a best seller..i would be first to buy.

.i would be first to buy.

Ad si thi on pond an feight thi forit

ah and tha"d loise.

ah and tha"d loise.

wid see, as owd as I am an all si thi

tha messin wi shiregreen lad pal. tha"ll get thisen duffed up reight.

Spot - The – Treasure 1966.

Smartly apparelled in his Korky the cat designer pyjamas, Zakes was stood peering out of his ssleepingroom window. With a look of dismal dismay plastered across his fresh-faced kisser, he groaningly sighed. Once again the weather without was looking most unpleasant. For the third day in a row, the heavy skies were filled with darkened greyness. It was also blustery, and it was lagging it down in biblical proportions.

The 12 years old Zakes was frustratingly frustrated and annoyingly annoyed, because he knew from past experiences, that the path that traversed over the fields to Birley Wood, would be Iike a rasputitsa, because of the heavy rainfall. Zakes couldn’t and never wouldn’t admire a quagmire. He had so desperately wanted to go to the woods, because the latest issue of the Derbyshire Times had an article in it, stating there was buried treasure to be found. Prinnted next to the article was an X, marking the spot where the woods are. This meant the treasure was buried in the woods… somewhere!

If it hadn’t been for the terrible weather, Zakes would have had almost as good a chance of finding the treasure, as his Dad had, finding the ball in the Spot-the-ball competition, he often entered in the Daily Sketch. The only difference being, Birley Wood is a lot bigger than Dad’s Spot-the-ball photo, in his newspaper.

Having taken a final glance through his window, Zakes turned around, kicked off his Desperate Dan designer slippers then crawled back into his pit.

Within 63 secconds he was a-snore…”zzzz zzzz.”

633 Squadron. 1967.

It was the morning of the second day during the half-term holiday, as Zakes was standing directly outside Donelons Grocery and provisions shop, on Birley Moor Crescent. He was intently manducating a banana chew, while nonchalantly leaving with his back against the shop window frame. The 13 years old Zakes had now lost interest in studying the flies, wasps, spiders, hornets, earwigs, blackclock beetles, and the brown mouse, all lying dead, on the sill inside the shop window. Zakes was so glad the banana chews he’d bought minutes ago, had wrapped wrappers wrapped around them.

Zakes spent some minutes, fourteen all told, gazing high above, to study the ceiling of the world. The sun was a-shine in the cloudless tungsten-grey sky, as he wetched wide-eyed with interest as five pairs of different specied birds flewby, flapping in various directions. The paired-off birds were: Blackcaps, Starlings, Capercaillies, Arctic Terns and Greenfinches. Zakes wondered where the exotic birds were heading for, and with knitted eyebrows went into thought, deep thought. Minutes later, thirty three all told, he had worked out where the birds were flying to:

The Blackcaps were flying to Blackpool.

The Starlings were flying to Starlingrad.

The Capercaillies were flying to Cape Town.

The Arctic Terns were flying to the Arctic Ocean.

The Greenfinches were flying to Birley Woods.

Zakes wondered where Ostriches, Emus and Rheas fly to, when they go on their holidays.

Some minutes later, eight all told, Zakes befound himself stood almost at the top of Birley Moor Drive, near to where it junctioned with Thornbridge Road. Because he was a nosy sod, Zakes strolled down a short, unsteep drivewayish lane, which led to a quite largish grassy green field. Sharing the largish field with the grass, was a myriad of in bloom yellow Dandelions (it was that time of year). Zakes, as ever, always looked forward to finding ripened Dandelions, because he enjoyed eating them. Firstly, he would check that no bees, cats or dogs had tiddled on’em, and he also checked no birds had cacked on ‘em, then he’d pluck two or three, sometimes four, of the proudest and brightest Dandelions.

It wasn’t for the tastiness that Zakes ate dandelions, but because they were healthy things to eat. The yellow petals tasted somewhat bitter, but are excellent for one’s digestive system. ‘Always eat a handful of dandelions before dining on Mum’s cooking’, mused Zakes, with a broad grin. The sapful dandelion stems are also somewhat bitter in taste, but are excellent for one’s Milz.

The largish grassy green field is a hidden island almost en-oblonged by the big back gardens of south of the houses on, Thornbridge Road, Birley Moor Drive and Birley Moor Way. It’s the perfect spot, for a spot of manic midnight mankin’.

Because Zakes is a fitness fanatic and because his ambition is to become a member of the Birley Ramblers Association (BRA) when he is old enough to be, he decided then and there to stride around the field’s perimeter, doing 26 laps to get into practice.

After having completed 25 laps, Zakes with bedewed bro, was now part way through the 26th lap of his stride-a-thon. On looking to hiis left through the hedgeroww, he saw a woman coming out of her house. The woman, it seemed was intent on doing a spot of gardening, beccause she was wearing green rubber glovs, and she was also wieldinng a shiny rusty trowel.

The gardeneress was wearing a tight white mini skirt, and a tight white t-shirt with a motif of … I LUV FROTTING, emblazoned across the front in large red letters. There was no emblazonment on the rar of her ‘dicky dirt’.

Within seconds zakes recognised her, she was known around the estate as Lady Muck. This lady (loosely said) thinks she is the cat’s whiskers, better than anybody else. Shes a gobby co, an Angeber, a la-di-da type. Credit to this ‘lady’ though because she had a maganimous pair of magnificent magnolias, and a tighter than tight tailpiece. A lady bountiful. Zakes decided to stay ducked, and hidden behind the hawthorn hedge, to see what might transpire.

Whilst the lady was fafing about, Zakes took a good look at the garden tht wasn’t full of Weeds. There was a wide array of colourful blooms, a very female garden. There was also a decent sized veggie patch too.

The lady’s blooming blooms consisted of:--

Lady’s finger

Lady’s thumb

Lady’s slipper

Lady’s smock

Lady’s bedstraw

Lady’’s mantle

Lady’s tresses

Lady orchid

Dame’s violet

Dame’s rocket

Damewort

A host of golden daffodillies

And many other quelquechose flowers and plants, planted inn mmuck by Lady Muck.

Looking toward the veggie patch, Zakes smilingly nodded his head in a very knowing manner, but it could be just his imagination. He saw many elongted vegetables like:-

Cucumbers, carrots, courgfettes, celery, parson’s lips, rhubarb, and esparagus, and many other unquelquechose vegetablees.

Glancing up to the hot sun, Zakes gauged by its position that he had been nebbing into the garden for almost 23 minutes.

Whilst wildly whistling the 633 squadron theme tune, Lady Muck decided to smarten-up the earth around her green gooseberry bush. Bending down straight legged, Lady Muck’s mini-skirt rode several inches higher than what was legally allowed. Zakes’ heart skipped 63 beats before it started to pound again. Good gosh, he knew Lady Muck had green fingers, but would never have guessed she wore green satin knickers.

Although zakes was excitedly enjoying the joyful sight in front of him, he promptly decided it was time to go home to fetch……his camera.

633 Squadron. 1967.

 

It was the morning of the second day during the half-term holiday, as Zakes was standing directly outside Donelons Grocery and provisions shop, on Birley Moor Crescent. He was intently manducating a banana chew, while nonchalantly leaving with his back against the shop window frame. The 13 years old Zakes had now lost interest in studying the flies, wasps, spiders, hornets, earwigs, blackclock beetles, and the brown mouse, all lying dead, on the sill inside the shop window. Zakes was so glad the banana chews he’d bought minutes ago, had wrapped wrappers wrapped around them.

 

Zakes spent some minutes, fourteen all told, gazing high above, to study the ceiling of the world. The sun was a-shine in the cloudless tungsten-grey sky, as he wetched wide-eyed with interest as five pairs of different specied birds flewby, flapping in various directions. The paired-off birds were: Blackcaps, Starlings, Capercaillies, Arctic Terns and Greenfinches. Zakes wondered where the exotic birds were heading for, and with knitted eyebrows went into thought, deep thought. Minutes later, thirty three all told, he had worked out where the birds were flying to:

 

The Blackcaps were flying to Blackpool.

 

The Starlings were flying to Starlingrad.

 

The Capercaillies were flying to Cape Town.

 

The Arctic Terns were flying to the Arctic Ocean.

 

The Greenfinches were flying to Birley Woods.

 

Zakes wondered where Ostriches, Emus and Rheas fly to, when they go on their holidays.

 

Some minutes later, eight all told, Zakes befound himself stood almost at the top of Birley Moor Drive, near to where it junctioned with Thornbridge Road. Because he was a nosy sod, Zakes strolled down a short, unsteep drivewayish lane, which led to a quite largish grassy green field. Sharing the largish field with the grass, was a myriad of in bloom yellow Dandelions (it was that time of year). Zakes, as ever, always looked forward to finding ripened Dandelions, because he enjoyed eating them. Firstly, he would check that no bees, cats or dogs had tiddled on’em, and he also checked no birds had cacked on ‘em, then he’d pluck two or three, sometimes four, of the proudest and brightest Dandelions.

 

It wasn’t for the tastiness that Zakes ate dandelions, but because they were healthy things to eat. The yellow petals tasted somewhat bitter, but are excellent for one’s digestive system. ‘Always eat a handful of dandelions before dining on Mum’s cooking’, mused Zakes, with a broad grin. The sapful dandelion stems are also somewhat bitter in taste, but are excellent for one’s Milz.

 

The largish grassy green field is a hidden island almost en-oblonged by the big back gardens of south of the houses on, Thornbridge Road, Birley Moor Drive and Birley Moor Way. It’s the perfect spot, for a spot of manic midnight mankin’.

 

Because Zakes is a fitness fanatic and because his ambition is to become a member of the Birley Ramblers Association (BRA) when he is old enough to be, he decided then and there to stride around the field’s perimeter, doing 26 laps to get into practice.

 

After having completed 25 laps, Zakes with bedewed bro, was now part way through the 26th lap of his stride-a-thon. On looking to hiis left through the hedgeroww, he saw a woman coming out of her house. The woman, it seemed was intent on doing a spot of gardening, beccause she was wearing green rubber glovs, and she was also wieldinng a shiny rusty trowel.

The gardeneress was wearing a tight white mini skirt, and a tight white t-shirt with a motif of … I LUV FROTTING, emblazoned across the front in large red letters. There was no emblazonment on the rar of her ‘dicky dirt’.

 

Within seconds zakes recognised her, she was known around the estate as Lady Muck. This lady (loosely said) thinks she is the cat’s whiskers, better than anybody else. Shes a gobby co, an Angeber, a la-di-da type. Credit to this ‘lady’ though because she had a maganimous pair of magnificent magnolias, and a tighter than tight tailpiece. A lady bountiful. Zakes decided to stay ducked, and hidden behind the hawthorn hedge, to see what might transpire.

 

Whilst the lady was fafing about, Zakes took a good look at the garden tht wasn’t full of Weeds. There was a wide array of colourful blooms, a very female garden. There was also a decent sized veggie patch too.

 

The lady’s blooming blooms consisted of:--

 

Lady’s finger

Lady’s thumb

Lady’s slipper

Lady’s smock

Lady’s bedstraw

Lady’’s mantle

Lady’s tresses

Lady orchid

Dame’s violet

Dame’s rocket

Damewort

A host of golden daffodillies

And many other quelquechose flowers and plants, planted inn mmuck by Lady Muck.

 

Looking toward the veggie patch, Zakes smilingly nodded his head in a very knowing manner, but it could be just his imagination. He saw many elongted vegetables like:-

Cucumbers, carrots, courgfettes, celery, parson’s lips, rhubarb, and esparagus, and many other unquelquechose vegetablees.

 

Glancing up to the hot sun, Zakes gauged by its position that he had been nebbing into the garden for almost 23 minutes.

 

Whilst wildly whistling the 633 squadron theme tune, Lady Muck decided to smarten-up the earth around her green gooseberry bush. Bending down straight legged, Lady Muck’s mini-skirt rode several inches higher than what was legally allowed. Zakes’ heart skipped 63 beats before it started to pound again. Good gosh, he knew Lady Muck had green fingers, but would never have guessed she wore green satin knickers.

 

Although zakes was excitedly enjoying the joyful sight in front of him, he promptly decided it was time to go home to fetch……his camera.

I would love to make a few comments but I dare,nt due to :hihi::hihi:

Excellent reading, know every step you take and persons you describe.

We all enjoy Zakes' eloquent outpourings of wisdom - the Forum would be much the poorer without him!

Everyone Is Everybody Else. 1967. Pt 1 of 2.

Subtitled – ‘Battle’ Of The Sexes. Observations Of A 13 Year Old Boy.

A Light Hearted View.

It was the morning of the third day during the half-term hoilday, as Zakes was standing outside the Post Office at Frecheville shops, on Birley Moor Road. With a smug smile stretched across his kisser, Zakes stepped from the pathway onto the road-let where people park their cars, when shopping at the flashy Frecheville shops. Craning his neck ever so slightly to the right, he could see the clock-face high above the doorway of the off-sales roomlet of the Birley Hotel public house (Stones) (see Picture Sheffield). The clock’s chime tolled Zakes it was precisely 08-08.

Having ravagingly ravaged a delicious bar of Mint Cracknell, Zakes was now smoking a Guards tipped fag he had ‘borrowed’ from his Mum’s unguarded pack of twenty. Whilst keeping a keen eye on his blue and pink coloured Pathfinder bicycle, Zakes wetched people milling by, going to their daily grind. He was studying the older generation, the ones aged 18-28. ‘Good Lord, I wouldn’t want to be as old as them’, mused Zakes.

As Zakes was critically scrutinizing the people walking by, he remembered as a boy, he had been dragged up with the clichéd cliché, ‘Ladies First’.

The Ladies. First:

Though only 13 years old, it hadn’t escaped Zakes’ attention, that there had been a definite change in Ladies in recent times. Some ladies had even started to call themselves women, even though some of them hadn’t entered womanhood, due to not having given birth to a child. This made Zakes wonder whether the real women, the ones who had bore a child, felt insulted by these lese-majeste treasonous maidens, who didn’t have, and who would never want to have children. Woman is a very special title, for very special females. Mum’s the word mused Zakes.

It also hadn’t escaped Zakes’ attention, that women had grown sick and tired of being treated as second class citizens, by the men of the nation. The women had now decided they weren’t goin gto allow the using and abusing to continue. They were now going to stand up for themselves. They were saying…”If it’s war they want, then war they shall have.”

Zakes believed the women (and the nulliparas) of the nation were going about things the wrong way. Confrontation would only cause more conflict and strife, followed by more unhappiness. Challenging, and clobbering men over the head, with umbrellas and rhubarb sticks, could only make matters worse, it would be a big mistake.

In their search for equality the women of the nation were unknowingly, and gullibly, being led by a handful of dubious Southern middle-class men haters, and an Australian mouthpiece, who had the strange name of, German Gear. The Aussie and the Haters were urging the nation’s ‘Givers of life’, to burn their bras, but gave no mention to their knickers, nor their suspender belts.

The worried male commentators on national television, radio and the press, were doing all they could to quell and subdue the ‘yabber-yap’ of the equality movement. They were spitefully trying to defame the nation’s women, by suggesting it was all about a bad case of Pines Envy. In some northern regions, it was known as Snipe Envy, in the backwoods of Wales, it was called Spine Envy. The men of Harlech were shouted down by their womenfolk, and were told to grow a backbone.

The equality ‘rolling stone’ was gathering more moss by the day, scaring the wits out of the witless men of the country. The women were now on the crest of the rollercoaster, that was now flooding the nation.

They were now:

Wearing trousers.

Having their hair cut short.

Drinking beer, Babycham, barley wine and cider, from pint measured tankards.

Driving vehicles, including tractors.

Showing an increase in swearing and in violence.

Having tattoos tattooed on their bodies. Why deface the wonderful, soft skin given to them for free by the creative creator of all wo-mankind?

It was also reported, that women had started to seriously play football, cricket and rugby. Their daughters were refusing to continue playing rounders and netball. Hopscotch, skipping and dipping also went out of the classroom window.

If this wasn’t enough, women also wanted to go out to work, working a full 48-hour week, taking the jobs off the ‘hard working’ man. Women wanted to drive buses, mix cement and tote bricks on building sites. They also demanded the right to be able to work in coal mines as self-appointed cavewomen, as slaves to rock, dust and mud. They also wanted to represent themselves in Parliament. Good Lord!

Pictures on TV showed umpteen thousands of women marching through the streets of Britain’s towns and cities. They were loudfully chanting:

“Sister for Sister, that’s what we’re for,

Don’t give us your reasons,

Our reason has gone out the door.”

As a spokeswoman for the Equality Movement, German Gear ( a nullipara) read out a statement on behalf of the nation’s women (it was actually cobbled together by her, and her bourgeois mens haters), declaring;

“We don’t need men to open doors for us any longer. We now refuse to walk gracefully, we chall stomp like men and soldiers do, to hell with the high heels. The women of the nation have decided enough is enough. We will not spend any more time slaving in the kitchen cooking food. We won’t wash, launder or clean the house for mucky men, and we certainly will not be having children again, the Doctor has put us all on the ‘jack and Jill’. To hell with love, honour and OBEY……NO MORE DOMESTIC SLAVERY FOR US!!”

Where would this leave the women who were still prepared to be slaves to their menfolk? Afterall, these ladies had sworn their avowal in the house of God, to always honour, respect and OBEY, the instructions dished out to them by their menfolk, without question.

Zakes was certainly most sympathetic to the cause of the long suffering women of the nation, but there were two possible snags.

A. Would Mum Zakes still cook his fried breakfasts and his Sunday dinners? Would she also continue laundering for him? “Please God, don’t let Mum zakes become part of the equality movement.”

B. Would Cousin daphne still be interested in those twice monthly red hot nights with Zakes? “Please God, don’t let Cousin daphne become part of the equality movement”. “I’ll even help her to burn her bra, her knickers, and her suspender belt.”

To Be Continued. Part 2. – The Men. Oh Dearie Me.

Everyone Is Everybody Else. 1967. Pt 1 of 2.

 

Subtitled – ‘Battle’ Of The Sexes. Observations Of A 13 Year Old Boy.

 

A Light Hearted View.

 

It was the morning of the third day during the half-term hoilday, as Zakes was standing outside the Post Office at Frecheville shops, on Birley Moor Road. With a smug smile stretched across his kisser, Zakes stepped from the pathway onto the road-let where people park their cars, when shopping at the flashy Frecheville shops. Craning his neck ever so slightly to the right, he could see the clock-face high above the doorway of the off-sales roomlet of the Birley Hotel public house (Stones) (see Picture Sheffield). The clock’s chime tolled Zakes it was precisely 08-08.

 

Having ravagingly ravaged a delicious bar of Mint Cracknell, Zakes was now smoking a Guards tipped fag he had ‘borrowed’ from his Mum’s unguarded pack of twenty. Whilst keeping a keen eye on his blue and pink coloured Pathfinder bicycle, Zakes wetched people milling by, going to their daily grind. He was studying the older generation, the ones aged 18-28. ‘Good Lord, I wouldn’t want to be as old as them’, mused Zakes.

 

As Zakes was critically scrutinizing the people walking by, he remembered as a boy, he had been dragged up with the clichéd cliché, ‘Ladies First’.

 

The Ladies. First:

 

Though only 13 years old, it hadn’t escaped Zakes’ attention, that there had been a definite change in Ladies in recent times. Some ladies had even started to call themselves women, even though some of them hadn’t entered womanhood, due to not having given birth to a child. This made Zakes wonder whether the real women, the ones who had bore a child, felt insulted by these lese-majeste treasonous maidens, who didn’t have, and who would never want to have children. Woman is a very special title, for very special females. Mum’s the word mused Zakes.

 

It also hadn’t escaped Zakes’ attention, that women had grown sick and tired of being treated as second class citizens, by the men of the nation. The women had now decided they weren’t goin gto allow the using and abusing to continue. They were now going to stand up for themselves. They were saying…”If it’s war they want, then war they shall have.”

 

Zakes believed the women (and the nulliparas) of the nation were going about things the wrong way. Confrontation would only cause more conflict and strife, followed by more unhappiness. Challenging, and clobbering men over the head, with umbrellas and rhubarb sticks, could only make matters worse, it would be a big mistake.

 

In their search for equality the women of the nation were unknowingly, and gullibly, being led by a handful of dubious Southern middle-class men haters, and an Australian mouthpiece, who had the strange name of, German Gear. The Aussie and the Haters were urging the nation’s ‘Givers of life’, to burn their bras, but gave no mention to their knickers, nor their suspender belts.

 

The worried male commentators on national television, radio and the press, were doing all they could to quell and subdue the ‘yabber-yap’ of the equality movement. They were spitefully trying to defame the nation’s women, by suggesting it was all about a bad case of Pines Envy. In some northern regions, it was known as Snipe Envy, in the backwoods of Wales, it was called Spine Envy. The men of Harlech were shouted down by their womenfolk, and were told to grow a backbone.

 

The equality ‘rolling stone’ was gathering more moss by the day, scaring the wits out of the witless men of the country. The women were now on the crest of the rollercoaster, that was now flooding the nation.

 

They were now:

 

Wearing trousers.

Having their hair cut short.

Drinking beer, Babycham, barley wine and cider, from pint measured tankards.

Driving vehicles, including tractors.

Showing an increase in swearing and in violence.

Having tattoos tattooed on their bodies. Why deface the wonderful, soft skin given to them for free by the creative creator of all wo-mankind?

 

It was also reported, that women had started to seriously play football, cricket and rugby. Their daughters were refusing to continue playing rounders and netball. Hopscotch, skipping and dipping also went out of the classroom window.

 

If this wasn’t enough, women also wanted to go out to work, working a full 48-hour week, taking the jobs off the ‘hard working’ man. Women wanted to drive buses, mix cement and tote bricks on building sites. They also demanded the right to be able to work in coal mines as self-appointed cavewomen, as slaves to rock, dust and mud. They also wanted to represent themselves in Parliament. Good Lord!

 

Pictures on TV showed umpteen thousands of women marching through the streets of Britain’s towns and cities. They were loudfully chanting:

 

“Sister for Sister, that’s what we’re for,

Don’t give us your reasons,

Our reason has gone out the door.”

 

As a spokeswoman for the Equality Movement, German Gear ( a nullipara) read out a statement on behalf of the nation’s women (it was actually cobbled together by her, and her bourgeois mens haters), declaring;

 

“We don’t need men to open doors for us any longer. We now refuse to walk gracefully, we chall stomp like men and soldiers do, to hell with the high heels. The women of the nation have decided enough is enough. We will not spend any more time slaving in the kitchen cooking food. We won’t wash, launder or clean the house for mucky men, and we certainly will not be having children again, the Doctor has put us all on the ‘jack and Jill’. To hell with love, honour and OBEY……NO MORE DOMESTIC SLAVERY FOR US!!”

 

Where would this leave the women who were still prepared to be slaves to their menfolk? Afterall, these ladies had sworn their avowal in the house of God, to always honour, respect and OBEY, the instructions dished out to them by their menfolk, without question.

 

 

Zakes was certainly most sympathetic to the cause of the long suffering women of the nation, but there were two possible snags.

 

A. Would Mum Zakes still cook his fried breakfasts and his Sunday dinners? Would she also continue laundering for him? “Please God, don’t let Mum zakes become part of the equality movement.”

B. Would Cousin daphne still be interested in those twice monthly red hot nights with Zakes? “Please God, don’t let Cousin daphne become part of the equality movement”. “I’ll even help her to burn her bra, her knickers, and her suspender belt.”

 

To Be Continued. Part 2. – The Men. Oh Dearie Me.

This ladies section is a true account of the fair sex,except the humping on building sites bit