raphael photography – Models

Shenanigans at the Poet & Peasant Pub

Chapter 1
Brute Burton – You do not want to cross this blighter’s path!

There is a pub located on the downtown docks known far and wide, it is rather cheekily named the Poet & Peasant Pub.
It is owned and operated by a gentleman( Loose term) known as Brute Burton.
Brute is a rather impressive male specimen, standing well over 2 meters tall, weighing over 15 stone, and strong enough to have lifted 272 Kilograms of an ox to win a wager.
Needled to add, not the type of man, if one is sane, to plays tricks upon!
Now Brute Burton is a retired sailor himself, who had worked the riggings of many a brig that travelled Her Majesties’ seven seas.
He purchased the Poet & Peasant Pub, tried to rename it The Wailing Sireen, but had faced such a row from the locals who had come to know the name well… In fact, several generations had called the pub their home away from home
So, with reluctance, Brute, resembling neither a poet or a peasant, acknowledged this was one fight he would not win, probably the only fight the pugilist had ever lost!
He retired the same day they permanently docked his last birth, a fine 3 masted schooner, christened the HMS Cybelemoon, a ship he had been mated on for the last 12 years.
As the schooner was being overhauled, he bought several of the hand-engraved exported mahogany planks from the captain’s quarters, and taking them to the pub he had purchased with his life savings, fashioned them into a rather notably fine bar that ran the whole length of the Poet & Peasant Pub’s west wall.
Most of the many other pubs located along that old, salt weathered waterfront has a somewhat nasty reputation for being quite rowdy establishments, full of drinking sailors, wild women, and other miscreants who instigate the many fights breaking out on the minute, not to mention the other forms of debauchery and nefarious activities that have the Constables sighing with disdain.
But the Poet & Peasant Pub is somewhat of an anomaly for a pub around these parts!
For Brute Burton will have none of that rowdiness in his establishment.
Although not perfect, the pub’s patrons have become accustomed to obeying the taverns unspoken rules for behaving. For, by breaking any of ‘em, would mean a quick grab and throw out the backdoors by Brute, whose best effort once threw a rather drunk sailor across the road and through the doors of the bar on the other side.
A massive heave of over 8 stone and 12 meters distance, with guaranteed broken bones greeting on upon landing!!
So Needles to say, it was a bit of a surprise to find a local sailor, on this dark, dreary evening, who intentionally attempts to give a shirk yank to pull Brute Burton’s short fuse!

Chapter 2
Shirking the Fuse!

It’s important to note before proceeding in with our tale, that the Poet & Peasant Pub is located quite close to the quite popular Oceanside gambling casino, Hermes Rest, well known to be an underworld held establishment!
Now one would think, given the clientele of the locals, along with Brute’s lack of toleration for rowdiness, that the Poet & Peasant Pub would be almost void of patrons.
But, thanks to the influx of thirsty gamblers looking for a cheaper price of a pint than that offered at the casino resort, the place is usually packed!
Especially on weekends when the younger gentry from wealthier areas uptown who want a bit of excitement by mingling in with a dicey crowd, find it by going down to that somewhat chancy side of town.
They start up gambling a bit at the casino, then gather upon the Poet & Peasant Pub, to either celebrate their winnings or drown their losses!
They do this, knowing that they will be fairly safe within the ancient, blackened interior of the large pub as they rub elbows with perhaps ( shall we say?) the least desirable members of their society.
And so, we now come to the evening of our tale: an early fall evening, full harvest moon just peaking over the tall masts of the ships docked in the small, fog-shrouded harbour that was the bread and butter of the town that surrounded it.
It is a crowded Friday night!
The cobblestone streets are rather full of sailors in port, college students on a holiday weekend, with all that lot mixed in with the wealthier, more daring of the townsfolk.
The narrow sidewalks that line the cobblestone street are crowded with a score or more of happily liquored souls wandering to and from the casino, bar to bar, in search of satisfying whatever the reason is that brings them out to this area.

As one looks upon this scene, they may notice a rather handsome, exceedingly well-dressed couple, swishing in and out amongst the happy throngs of hearty souls…
He is nattily dressed in a hounds-tooth tweedy suit, gold fob, and chain that crosses his waistcoat ending with a large gold pocket watch, a black bowler is perched on his head, and a long black umbrella held in the crouch of his arm.
He is attentively escorting the rather fetchingly pretty lady that is accompanying him.
This lass is enticingly clad in a long violet dress of silk and lace, wearing a pretty sapphire necklace with matching earrings that all glitter in the gas street lamps as she weaves in and out of the rough crowd.
Their eyes are inquisitively darting to and fro, taking in the area as they walk.
The couple makes their way carefully along the wooden planks of the dock’s sidewalks, peering cautiously inside the doors, gawking at the interiors of the noisy pubs and their rough-looking patrons as they pass on buy.
They stop outside the open metal-bound oak doors of the Poet and Peasant Pub and peer inquisitively inside.
Just as they do, a rather thin chap with a perpetually smiling face comes up unseen from across the road.
He is wearing old worn canvas trousers, a weather-worn sailor blouse, and a flat cap on his head that comes upon them from behind. Long wisps of sun-weathered sandy blonde hair fall in strings from the cap, some of them tied into a short ponytail. He is rather young, but the look in his keen brite blue eyes are those of a much older, perhaps even wiser man.
He stands behind the couple, patting them both on the back with a joyful cheerio.
As they both turn their heads in a rather annoyed fashion, he grins, "Better In than out Jack always says!", and enthusiastically parts the two as he goes on past them inside.

Chapter 3
The Jack is Back!

The couple watch as this rather odd man calling himself Jack makes his way inside through the throng, acknowledging several people, but receiving little, any real recognition.
He finally reaches a table with three men, all clad in severe cut suits!
Two have built like the bodyguards they were.
The third, with a weaselly face, held pursed in a stern and unforgiving manner looked like he was in charge of the group, but not the one to be in real charge.
Next to him stands a rather voluptuous lady, curvy in a long red satin number that flows down to her high heeled feet. From her ears, neck, wrist, and fingers sparkle a fine collection of emeralds set with diamonds, small but quite expensively real.


The couple, still contemplatively peering in at the doorway, look at each other and silently a decision is made and they go inside.
They manage to squeeze through and find an empty table in a back corner by the fireplace, where the beginnings of a large fire are in place, waiting to be lit once the cool chill of the evening fog rolls in.

The man seats his companion, then stands over here as they both look around in adept silence.
Across from them is the long mahogany bar, with Brute Burton standing behind, serving drinks and snarls as he is busy lording over his Pub!

Meanwhile, the odd stranger has seated himself with the 3 men and engages them in conversation. The lady in red, still standing, listens in, becoming quite interested in the charismatic newcomer and his many lively colourful stories…
All the while Brute Burton works his station at the bar, serving up drinks as they are ordered, sliding them down the smooth wood bar with expert precision.
Sadly, for his patience, poor Brute is in a rather worse mood than usual this evening.
Quite peeved that his favourite barmaid had up and quit the day before, having been sweet-talked into taking a job at one of his competitor’s pubs just down the street( The Jolly Jellyfish).
This has been the topic of many conversations up and down the docks all day, so much so, that everyone pretty much knows to stay clear of crossing the disgruntled publican, and Brute is quite happy with that.
So, needless to say, what happens next came as quite a surprise to a lot of people, including Brute!

Chapter 4
So, tell me, just what did happen next?

And so we shall…
For the last 45 minutes, Brute had been irately eyeing a particular table.
Not surprisingly, it was the one Jack, the 3 men, and the emerald laden sultry lady were occupying!
Or as Brue saw it.
One loud-mouthed scoundrel of a sailor, 2 tight-lipped yes men, their jolly like a snake boss whose business did not belong in his pub and some over jewelled tart in a red dress who had better be mindful of the area of town where she had been brought!
Except for the two tight lipped goons, the occupants of that table have grown more vocal, their tongues loosened by the pints of beer being consumed.
Most of the other patrons were watching them with interest, and stealing glances over to Brute to see if he was growing agitated with them.
He was, his hand polishing his mahogany bar clean was gripping the washcloth like he was strangling a chicken!!
And apparently, the attention Brute is giving the table had not gone unnoticed, for they were quite obviously talking about Brute himself, judging by the way they had all been stealing looks his way.
Seeing this also made Brute quite a bit more upset, and the chortling patrons seated at the table apparently knew it, much to his chagrin.
So it was with grinding teeth that Brute observed the thin man in the sailors’ rig rise and head up, a little wobbly, towards the bar, with his fellow tablemates, the dolled-up tart, and most of the rest of the pubs drinking patrons all watching with whetted keen interest.

The thin sailor sat down at one end of the bar and called out cheerfully…
“Hey barkeep, a shot of the devil’s own then!”
Brute poured a bit of rotgut in a shot glass, and intending to give the young sailor a piece of mind, walked ( rather than sliding ) it over to him.
“Look ‘ere now, want no troubles from you or your friends, mate, Capish lad?”! he warned the grinning sailor in a stern tone.
Then he gave the sailor a second, closer look over…
“Aye, Wait a minute didn’t I see you in my pub last night?”
“Indeed you did my most observant sir, Indeed you did, and Jacks the name mister Brute!”
Jack offered a hand to shake, which was ignored by Brute.
Unfazed, the sailor withdrew his hand and continued:
“But my friends all call me Jackie sir, and you may call me by that, for we are all friends here in this fine establishment you own Eh Brute!”
As Jackie nodded he watched the burly, stern eyed barkeep, who did not nod in agreement to Jackie’s words!
Dead silence also greeted Jack’s question from the rest of the pub’s occupants!
Unfazed, Jackie continued…
“Came here on a lark last evening, enjoyed your fine establishment so much, decided to return!”
He still looked into Brute’s eyes, but the barkeep was having none of it, no scrawny excuse for a sailor was going to butter him up!
Jackie continued smiling and said in answer to himself since no words were coming out of the mouth of a stone silent brute. The rest of the bar had grown quiet, many of the patrons standing and circling around the bar to watch, sure that this lad named Jackie was going to end up on the losing end of Brute Burton’s temper!
“No worries than my man, just here again in your fine establishment for a friendly drink.”
Jackie slid a couple of coins to the barkeep who began to pick them up.
“Say, barkeep, would you now be interested in winning few coins from a betting sailor with no’thin better to do with his money?” Jackie amiably asked the stern gazing Brute.
One could hear a pin drop in the Poet and Peasant Pub after Jackie spoke those words!

Chapter 5
A Challenge Given

Brute meanly eyed down the sailor, giving Jackie an unspoken warning to tread along this path very carefully!
Brute than warily answered.
“What the hell are you one about laddie!?”
Brute spit out the words, his hooded eyes holding back a fire waiting to ignite.
“Just this, £5 say that I can lick me right eye!
Jackie continues on, pleasantly cooing his words as he suggests the bet, acting for all the world like a mongoose playing loose with the last thread of a looming Cobra’s nerve!
Like that cobra, Brute just looked at Jackie for a full minute eyes half-closed, before opening them wide and finally saying, no snarling, his answer…
“You are on laddie, but make no mistake, better be no shenanigans! So go one then, let’s all see you lick your right eye!”

With a wide smile, Jackie popped out his right glass eye and licked it, before putting it back, eyeing down the now infuriated Brute.
The whole bar hushed, unbelieving as Jack held out his hand…
The bartender threw down a fiver, the look he was giving Jack would have sent most men running.
The whole bar was now watching, many jostling amongst themselves for a better look at what was going on, waiting to see what was going to befall upon this mischief-making sailor named Jackie….
Jackie, holding his ground, did not touch the pair of fivers, instead, he said, quite apologetically…
“I am so sorry chappie, that… was actually quite rude of me, I’ll admit, and after promising no shenanigans to boot. Tells you what my dear Brute, sir…”
Jackie reaches in, he pulls a wad of notes from his pocket and lays down a total of twenty on top of the fivers.
Brute, and the rest of the pub’s patrons, watch dumbfounded, the loon is making another bet they think.
And several of the patrons nearest the back exit move away, clearing a path for when Brute gives the sailor his upcoming due…
But Jack just smiles, boldly standing his ground, and speaks out cheerfully…
“Gives you a chance to make your money back, and profit!”
Jackie said with a promise.
Brute answers, snarling so loudly that some of the Poet & Peasant’s patrons actually cringed, some even stepping backwards and tripping up against those behind them….
The dolled-up tart in red, notably wearing the flickering emeralds, gasps, moving back in fear, and she trips over the man standing behind her, his female companion catches and steadies the poor lass as they, and the rest of the pub’s patrons, with to see what happens next!

Chapter 6
The Happening

Brute eyed the pile of money as he snarled…
“Oui then, let’s hear you out, last words before I show your scrawny carcass the door then, eh Laddie!”
Jackie, unperturbed, answered Brute in that sing-song manner of his…
“This lot is yours (he pointed to the pile of notes) my dear barkeep if I cannot bite my left eye!
Brute just looked at him for a very long minute, a long, quite cold minute. He finally spoke, choosing his words carefully, as he kept his temper in check….
“I didn’t know about your fake blue eye me salty lad, but I sure ‘en hell knows you ain’t blind! Your on!”
Brute pulls out a wad of his own, slapping down a total of 20 hard-earned notes on top of his fiver.
Jackie gulps down the last of his rotgut, and smiles widely, playing the pubs hushed attention for all it was worth, then taking out his false teeth, he smartly bit his left eye.
You could have heard a pin drop on the wooden saw dusted floor of the place, it was now so quiet!
The red gowned tart placed a hand to her now bare throat in excitement, her emerald earrings swaying, as a murmuring started from the crowd, everyone jostling pushed daringly forward even a bit more, knowing what should be happening next to the cunning sailor calling himself Jackie.

As For Jackie, he continued to smile as he adjusted his false teeth (ivory) and then nonchalantly pulled a plug of tobacco from his pocket and biting off a wad, started to chew as he looked Brute dead in the eye.
The piles of £40 in notes lay on the counter, untouched, seemingly unnoticed by either of the two, Brute or Jackie, who’s eyes were locked into the others steely gaze.
Brute finally broke the long silence, moving towards Jackie, his meaty fists gripping the bar, as if he were trying to hold them back from strangling the living daylights out of the thin sailor looking all for the world like slithering scowling cobra who had had enough from the jeering mongoose. Which he, in fact, had, had enough that is!
Brutes words came, snarling from his lips, as he said in no uncertain terms!
“Yur crackers Laddie, that is a fact… and youns have just earned a one-way ticket out of my pub, and if yur lucky, only a few of your bones will be broken when you land! …"
As he spoked his right hand detached itself from the mahogany bar, and grabbed the sailor by his blouse, intending to lift Jackie up and toss him physically from the premises!
Jackie, remaining totally unruffled by Brute’s actions, laid a hand upon the Publican’s wrist, and tsk’d Brute, who in surprise at the unperturbed demeanour of Jackie, actually let go of the sailors’ blouse and allowed his hand to be gently taken aside and placed upon the bar.
Jackie said, with total complacently, as he chewed his tobacco…
“I know, that was not a nice thing atoll for me to do, seeing how it is my honour to be here in your fine establishment, and me playing tricks on ye, not a nice thing atoll for a patron to do”
Jackie smiled winningly up at the still bristling Brute.
“Tell ya what my fine friend, do you have a halfpenny on you perchance?”

Chapter 7
In for a half-penny?

Brute could not believe his ears, he was utterly flabbergasted at this sailors actions, but still slightly more than mite curious, like the fabled lion listening to the mouse pleading his case, wondering why this git just did not seem to understand just whom the bloody hell he was toying with?
Finally, Brute just said…
“Yeah numbskull, I do, why?
Almost to a man(and women) the whole bar was now absolutely focused on the goings-on between Brute and the sailor Jackie, never before had anyone taunted the bartender with such nerve and still was be able to stand upright…
Jack just grinned for a few seconds before speaking apologetically…
“I truly do feel bad for playing me little jokes on you, it’s just me personality understand, and I am unable to control it after a few pints of the houses best, you understand my dear most gracious sir…?
Brute started to say something in answer, but Jackie quickly cut in…
“Just hear me out kind sir, and ye may find it worth your while for putting up with ‘ol Jackie this evening!”
Jackie picked up his empty shot glass, looking at it as he spoke.
“See this shot glass dear, most reasonable, sir? If you would most kindly take it to the far end of your rather prettily polished bar and hold it up like you were cheering me.
I will bet your half penny against this pile of notes laying on your bar… No, Lest double it …”
Jackie lays another £40 in notes upon the pile.
“There now, £80 against your Half Penny says I can spit out this entire bit of tobacco I am chewing, and every bit of it will land dead centre inside that shot glass… If so much as a drop of it lands anywhere else, you then win the whole pot, every last pound, and pence….!”
Brute thought for a very long, thoughtful minute, trying to see all the angles, and finding none that could lose him the pot. In his mind he reasoned, how could anyone accomplish such a feat, especially a cocky drunken sailor with more mouth than sense?
“Ta, you’re on lad !”
he snarled…
“But I hold the money until after your bet!”
“Agreed !” Jackie said and pushed the notes up against the shot glass. Brute picked up both the glass and notes, walked to the far end of the bar, about 3 meters, and held the glass up against his spotless white apron.
The entire bar was still in a hush, and actually had become quite crowded now as word had spread across to some of the other drinking establishments, whose curious patrons had come over to witness the goings on…most hoping to be entertained with watching a rather thorough beating of a certain thin sailor..!
Jackie just grinned…
“Ready?” he asked, on your count of three than sir…”

Chapter 8
One, Two, Three

Brute nodded and began the count.
“One, Two….Three!”
Jackie taking a mouthful of air, spit out the wad of wet brown gooey tobacco. The unsavoury mess flew across the bar, hitting Brutus, the bar, the walls…everywhere but inside the shot glass.
Realizing that he had won the bet, Brute pocketed the notes and started laughing, as he wiped the brown slime off himself, his apron, and the various surfaces of his bar.
The entire bar nervously erupted into laughter, poking themselves, and pointing towards the witless sailor and his odd games which had cost Jackie some eighty pounds!
Brute finished his cleaning and still chuckling …
then looked over at Jackie, who was still sitting there, still smiling like had had not a care in the world!
Puzzled Brute moved back to the sailor, and addressed him rather curtly.
“Se here mate, what is it with you? Your antics here have cost you a voyages’ wage, yet you sit there grinning like the whole world is your oyster.. so what of it, are you just looney or daft, or both!?”
Jackie just smiled, rising from his seat as he looked up at the bartender and tipped his cap.
“Hopefully neither my most kind sir, hopefully neither! “
Jackie looked around the bar, meeting the eyes of the curious patrons. Stopping at his table, where the weaselly eyed gent had a rather unhappy look upon his mug, the red gowned tart was just looking horrified, and the two burly bodyguards just looked stunned!
Jackie looked back upon the smirking Brute and started to explain…
“It’s like this my dear sir… See that table over yonder?”
Jackie nodded towards the table that he had been sitting at… The tart now had a silly grin on her face, the other three had not changed their expressions…
Brute over then looked back to Jackie…
“Yeah, I see the Buggers, what of it!?
Jackie smiled, placing his hands inside his trouser pockets…
“Well me lad…”
Jackie moved just a little further away from Brutes’ reach as he spoke…
“It’s like this… Those gentlemen back there bet me a thousand pounds against me coming up here and spitting tobacco juice over yourself and fine bar, and have you clean the mess up yourself, laughing all the while… which is exactly what you just did!”
Brute just stared at the smirking sailor, realizing that he had been played for a fool after all. Jackie was now out of reach, and so Brute just snarled at the impish sailor…
“Pick up your winnings mate, and hightail your miserable carcass outta of here…. If I ever so much as see your shadow at me door again, I will not be held responsible for my actions, he promised in no uncertain terms!”
Jackie bowed in obeisance to the Bartender, then turns and walks up to the table.
Reaching it he winks at the girl, leans over the 3 gentlemen…
“Sorry chaps you heard the keep, I must, quite sadly, be one my way!”
From the table his picks, up the pile of notes, the gentlemen lost in the bet.
Jackie moves off as the men start to protest, ignoring them, and smiling winningly at the lady in the red dress and shimmering emeralds, who smiles back.
Jackie weaves his way through the still chattering crowd, ignoring them. And without looking back, leaves the Poet & Peasant Pub.

Chapter 9
Wait, there’s more to this story

And here it is…
Jackie quickly turns a corner before finally allowing sneaking a look back.
Once he is certain that no one follows, for a £1000 is a lot of incentive for a mugging, he darts down a side alleyway.
After a series of turns up, down and doubling back down more alleyways and staying in the shadows of darkened back paths, Jack finally crosses a street and approaches another pub.
He goes inside and orders a shot of irish, watching the doorways, looking about to see if anyone shows an interest in him.
Once he is satisfied that he has not been followed, or noticed, he gulps the shot, throws a coin clattering on the bar(not as clean and shiny as Brutes), and before it stops, has slipped out a back door.
Jack darts down another alleyway leading to a train station.
But instead of going inside, Jackie lights a small black irish pipe and waits a few minutes to get it going, casually looking around.
Then, turning on his heels, he makes his way back down the alley, stopping midway, he heads up a staircase leading to a small row of apartments for let above the back of a block of the stores that front the street leading to the trainyard.
Going to one of the blackened doors, he raps a signal on the door with his knuckles.
A matching rap is heard from inside, and Jack answers with a final signal.
The door is unlocked.
Looking around to make sure no one is lurking in the alleyway below, Jack then turns the knob slowly.
Opening the door with caution, then, with a final look around, steps inside.
There were two occupants in the room, standing on either side of a bed.
Upon the bed lay a satin sheet, covering something that made small lumps from underneath.
Jack is looking upon the very couple that he had greeted at the entrance of the pub known as the Poet and Peasant!
The chap in the hounds-tooth suit had pulled from inside the sleeve of his umbrella a ling thin deadly sharp rapier, and was pointing it nastily towards the door, held up level with Jack’s chest.
The attractive lady in the violet gown was holding a diminutive 2 shot derringer, cocked, she had pulled from neath her left satin glove, it too was pointing at Jack’s chest.

“ ‘Ello put away yur ”greeters” mates, it is only meself coming to visit ya after placing life and limb in peril !”
The lass in purple satin Smirks pleasantly as she speaks…
“I don’t know about your life being in peril luv, but I would’ave taken bets against your breaking a few limbs by the way you were teasing the guv’ner who owns that bar. But should have known you would squeak it through, you put up a good job of it!”
The man in tweed grins also, then speaks as he looks at Jack, then down upon the bed as he finished.
“Yes mate, you did the talk pretty well, as usual, and played it to your advantage… and to our advantage as well!!”
Jackie and the pretty lass also look down upon the bed, as he curiously observes.
“We had a good crowd this evening didn’t we!?” And, speaking of advantage, how did we do?”
They all smile as, as the couple standing by the bed put away their weapons.
Then they both grasped the top sheet on the bed and wicked it off.
Exposing a rather impressive collection of assorted wallets small pouches of coins, both gold and silver pocket watches, diamond pins, 3 gold necklaces, a handful of shimmering rings and several glittering ladies bracelets.
Picked the patron’s pockets clean while they were all watching your antics, said Erebus, the man in the houndstooth suit.
“Including this!” triumphantly exclaimed Teddi, the lady in violet, as she delved her hand inside her gowns satin sash, extracting and showing off a rather dazzling diamond and emerald necklace.
Jackie smiled with satisfaction…
“Hoped it was you had spotted that one, red gowned tarty blondes should know better than to wear emeralds, horrible choice with fair skin. Noticed they were gone from her neck as I was leaving, hoped they hadn’t just fallen off!”
The Lass chirped cheerfully as she dangled the glistening necklace…
“Oh, they did fall off, with a little help!”
They all were grinning widely at his point.
Erebus then asked…
“So, speaking of tarts, how did you do with her chums from the casino?”
Jackie patted his pocket…
“Parted them from a £1000 of their winnings, less what I had used as to bait for the bartender!”
Erebus pulled up a heavy satchel from neath the bed, and opened it, more pretty things glittered from inside, along with assorted items that matched those laying on the bed.
It was their collective haul from the 3 nights they had been in town so far.
Teddi came around and helped Erebus start to place the items on the bed inside the satchel.
Jackie stole a look outside, making sure the way was clear.
Stepping back in he said …
“Oui now let’s finish packing it up and split ways. The train is leaving in an hour. Meet at the trains’ pub car for a drink at midnight! Three strangers meeting on a train! That is what we be !”

The three of them grinned as the last of the items from the bed were packed away, the emerald necklace being laid in on top of the rather valuable collection residing in the satchel.
The two looked at Jack, who grinned from ear to ear…
At next town, we will divvy up this lot, and see about adding to it!”
They all nodded in eager agreement.
As Jackie continued to keep an eye outside the door, Erebus and Teddi began to quickly to finish pack up operations.
And at midnight the trio was clinking glasses of ale in celebration, happily nestled into a cozy booth at the Trains bar car!
Author’s note
Thanks to one of my main protagonists, Eileen, who told the joke that made the gist of this story.
She winningly carried out the tale one rather blustery night, inside by a cheery fire at the actual Poet and Peasant Pub, our own dockside hangout.
The Poet and the Peasant Is a little backwater pub we have frequented for years, as young ones, my sister and I, visited and played in the vacated old chicken yard located between the back of the pub and the waters edge.
It’s a laid back place, music (Mostly live, some dead, as our saying goes). Beyond its ornate doorway, one finds the usual cast of regulars, Including us, consuming a generous selection of ales and other “demon” drinks.
The pub is housed in an ancient old building with all sorts of old Victorian-era objects, found and given a home in the pub’s numerous nooks and crannies. Including the yellowed skull of poor Erik.
Erik was a 14th-century Welsh poet and balladeer who supposedly was beheaded for making several torrid lyrics about a certain Saxon king.
The lyrics are long forgotten, but Erik’s remains still reign. His grinning skull sits high up in a shelf along a balustrade, usually with a cigar clamped in his jaws. Couldn’t tell how many times some bloke with more’ in his fill of drink has tried to light it for the poor blighter.
The pub is a regular howl around Halloween, thanks to Erik, who has obtained quite a degree of notability, despite being dead and silent for all these long years.
Costume and poetry contests abound around this time of the year.
Basically, Erik aside, the “Poet and the Peasant” is a great place to hang out and make plans with a pint in hand.

If anyone has ever visited our pub, give a shout out in the comments.

Posted by Cadence and Craig Abbot Creative Photography on 2021-05-10 16:27:08


Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

0 3 0 1 7 8 6 3 6 3 2
Scroll to Top