A Tale of Two Titties!

sampost

Badgeman
Several weeks, and a run ashore later, the HMS Kalahari was anchored off the island of St Helena in the South Atlantic. Barry watched as an aircraft circled the island preparing to land. “Who’d have thought a lump of rock like this would have an airstrip” he said to Algernon as they leaned over the side inspecting the water below.

“Well you obviously haven’t heard the legend of the St Helena airstrip then Barry,” Algy retorted. “Midshipman Donkin was telling me about it the other day. He said that some years back the Good Lord was flying over St Helena in His private jet when he looked down and exclaimed Wherefore art thou landing strip, I would’st come and frolic in your fields of flax. Alas, we have none, the islanders had replied, and he had said that verily they should’st have one forthwith, and lo it came to pass that very soon and one insolvency later the island could boast an airport to receive despots, dictators, embezzlers and prisoners-of-war to house on their island fortress.”

Barry looked at the island in awe. “It sure helps to have a good Lord in your corner,” he said” I wonder whether we will encounter any convicts on our run ashore.”

“Oh, probably not,” Algy replied. “The bottom fell out of the convict hospitality industry so now it’s just aviation enthusiasts who like collecting unusual passport stamps who come and visit. But don’t despair, you’re sure to find something of interest if you go ashore. You might try climbing those steps, for example, and if you enjoy old fortifications, you’ll have a field day.”

“Hmmm,” Barry murmured, “well I could do with a bit of exercise, I think I will go and do some exploring.”

Algernon wasn’t able to go ashore. He had to stay onboard and do all sorts of chores that only stewards can do and which make them so indispensable onboard a naval vessel. What a great branch of the service to be in, Algernon mused as he assisted the Purser doing something or other. Barry, meanwhile, had made it to the top of Jacobs Ladder and was looking at some faded crest of the Royal Engineers. Standing there, he was transported back in time to another era, one which, he thought, he might have preferred. He decided to walk a little further up the hill, when suddenly he noticed an unusual object on the side of the road. “Hello,’ he said,” what’s this? It looks rather like a TARDIS!”
 

sampost

Badgeman
“So how is your chum Barry, “Captain English enquired when Algernon brought him his tea.

“Not too well, Sir”, Algy replied. “He’s still strapped down in the sick bay. They gave him a sedative.”

“Yes it wasn’t a pretty sight seeing him being brought aboard in a straightjacket” the Captain said sympathetically. “I hear they found him wandering half-naked somewhere near Longwood quaffing from an antique bottle of Port.”

“That’s correct, Sir. He said he won it at a raffle.”

“Ah, yes. The famous Raffle. And the other fellows at the raffle included Napoleon, Captain Cook, Captain Bligh, Charles Darwin and some famous Zulu king who played the piano.”

“That’s what he says, Sir. Hansie Cronje was also there, Ben Veldskoen, and Haile Selassie.”

“Don’t you mean Halley, the astronomer?”

“Possibly, Sir. Barry was a bit drunk. He was slurring a lot. Seems Barry lost his shirt in a game of cards and the rest of his kit was pounced on by his playmates. Kept going on about the Doctor. He’s a huge fan. ”

“The Doctor, eh? I’ll look in on the sickbay later. Must verify that bit about Cronje and the Veldskoen fellow. Doesn’t sound right. Not a word about this to the ships company, mind. Don’t want them ridiculing the poor lad. He’s probably just a bit delirious from the sun and all that exercise. Dehydration, I’d guess. He should be fine in a day or two and we can forget about all this. You and he don’t want anything untoward on your file what with you being seconded to the Admiral of Amampondoland.”

“Amampondoland? That’s the first I’ve heard of that! I thought you said we were going to Namzambique?”

“Well we are, Algernon, and don’t sound so surprised. Amampondoland is in Namzambique, but it’s also a kingdom like Wessex or Wakanda, or maybe it’s a principality, I’m not entirely sure. Anyway, the Admiral has appointed a fellow called Nobulus, and his brief is to restore a stone frigate there that was allowed to go to ruin by some Commander Augustus Gloop.”

“I see,” Algernon replied. “Well it sounds like a bit of an adventure. I guess a good steward would be useful to them, and Barry will be a fine asset to any unit.”

“That’s the spirit, Algernon,” the Captain encouraged. I could tell you more but now is not the time. Just keep up the good work. We’re due to sail shortly and we should be rendezvousing with a vessel from the Royal Namzambiquan Navy in a day or two.”

“Splendid, well if you’ll excuse me Sir I think I ought to go and see what help they need in the galley before I go and check on the laundry. I had no idea, when I joined, that I would be kept so busy.”

“No regrets then Algernon?” the Captain enquired.

“No Sir, It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better task that I go to than I have ever known.”
 

sampost

Badgeman
Pride of the Royal Namzambiquan Navy, HMNS Huberta, rendezvoused with the HMS Kalahari a day later. The Huberta didn’t linger for long – she was in a hurry to deliver her cargo to Ascension as soon as possible. What the cargo was, Algernon confided to Barry, was Top Secret, but he had heard Captain English discussing it with the Communications Officer earlier in the day. Apparently the Governor General of Namzambique had called on the venerated Namzambiquan Special Forces to capture a gang of rowdy individuals who had been stealing time and money from the beleaguered taxpayers, not to mention invading the hallowed portals of the Namzambiquan parliament and pissing off the public big time. That obnoxious gang was now being taken on a geography tour at taxpayers expense, with a bit of hard labour thrown in. What exactly, Algernon wasn’t sure, because at that stage Captain English had shooed him out of his cabin. Well, life was always interesting on the HMS Kalahari.

Barry was impressed. He’d harboured the impression that the Royal Namzambiquan Navy was just some third world fashion parade. Maybe the next couple of years at wherever it was he was going wouldn’t be too bad after all.
 

sampost

Badgeman
Nobulus, meanwhile, was hunkered down in his bunker in the corner of a compound somewhere in Amampondoland. He was waiting for further instructions from the man known only as Rodney Laing. He had just finished oiling up an old family heirloom, a knobkerrie that dated back to some time before the rinderpest, and was relaxing in the satisfaction of a job well done, when there was a rap on the door.

Nobulus hesitated. He wasn’t too sure whether he was in friendly territory yet, and remembered how his bunker had been invaded once before by folk who spirited him off to the far side of town. Now why was that, he thought, trying to construct a mental timeline. Probably because he had jumped the chain of command, or something. Well, the food hadn’t been that terrible and frankly he had just finished off his last tin of baked beans. Perhaps it was a home delivery from Mr Grocerman up the road. Perhaps not. He went to the door.

“Who is it?” Nobulus asked in a hesitant voice.

“It’s me sir, Corporal Jannie Kemp, from the RNDF. I’m a despatch rider and have brought you great tidings of comfort and joy!”

“Hooray!” Nobulus exclaimed. “In that case you can leave the fruitcake on the doormat, take three steps back, salute and then disappear into the night.”

“No sir, it is not just a fruitcake delivery. I have your orders from the Chief of the RNDF. You have been given permission to break the curfew and report forthwith to the training base previously commanded by Cdr Augustus Gloop and you are to come immediately on my motorbike”.

“Well, that would disobey all laws of social distancing, Corporal”, Nobulus contended, but the Corporal explained that he had a sidecar which had a very inventive extension thing created by the man they call Queue.

“Ah”, Nobulus said,” Well in that case I shall come immediately. You can do a bit of star-gazing outside while I pack a few things in case I am away for a few days.
 

sampost

Badgeman
Nobulus took another swig from the bottle of Bosun’s Bitter that he had stashed in his togbag in the hack. Jannie rode carefully, looking out for any livestock that might wander into the sweep of his headlight. Orion sparkled benignly in the expanse above. There was no other traffic on the road. The lockdown had seen to that. “Stop!” Nobby commanded, “I need to take a piss.”

Jannie pulled over to the side of the road, Nobby climbed out the hack, wandered a little off the road and unbuttoned his trousers.

“This Chief of the Royal Namzambiquan Defence Force”, he said, “What do you actually know about him?”

“Not much,” Jannie replied. “He gets elected by all the Prime Ministers, then ratified by the Governor General, something like that.”

“So he’s not actually from Amampondoland?” Nobby asked, pleased to see that he could still maintain a fairly steady stream.

“Heck no, he could be from Matabeleland for all I know. I just got your orders passed on to me by the lieutenant. Are you done yet?”

“Just about,” Nobby replied, buttoning up his trousers and climbing back into the hack.

The rest of the trip they rode in silence, Nobby studying the stars above and wondering about where their final destination. The haze of lights of the town in the distance grew closer and in time they spluttered to a halt outside a rather derelict looking building near a dark river.

“This is it,” Jannie said. “I leave you here. I hope you packed a sleeping bag – there’s probably no one else in the building. Place has been abandoned for ages, might even get pulled down. It’s up to you to fight off the developers. Anything I can get you? Candles? Chinese take-aways?”

Nobulus pushed the creaking door open. The place was eerie, but he felt a sense of déjà vu. What had happened here? He was sure he had been here before. A thunderstorm? Lightning illuminating the river mouth? A torrential downpour? Hauling down the flag, running across the bridge and casting it into the river? Weird. Perhaps in some other lifetime. “No,” he replied. “No Chinese takeaways. But I’ll need supplies. I’ll expect to see you back here with breakfast.”
 

sampost

Badgeman
Several days later the SAS Kalahari docked at Barry and Algy's destination. They were both able to go ashore and take a look around before collecting their kit from the ship. It had been an eventful voyage for both, and Barry had particularly enjoyed seeing the keg of beer landed with such precision as they had travelled up the coast. He was not, however, impressed with the state of the shore establishment. He took a look at the foundation stone. Crikey, the stone had been laid 80 years previously by some Commodore in the RN, and it didn’t look like the place had any work done on it since then.

Algy, never one to be defeated, was more positive than his mate. “Listen,” he said, “I don’t think they’re going to make us stay here while the place is being renovated. Let’s go and see if we can find the OC of this dump.”

Well, fortunately for Barry and Algy there were some fine people in the town who organised accommodation for them. This was just as well because Nobulus was too busy to organise it himself and Jannie Kemp wasn’t being much help either, being more interested in celebrating with the settlers as they festooned the town with balloons and stuff.

Barry thought about his mom back home. I wonder what she is doing now, he mused. Well, I can just imagine – probably painting her nails and sitting under a hairdryer! I don’t suppose she’d want to come out and visit me here? Perhaps if I send her a postcard it might persuade her? Or better still, a video that she can play on her phone. She’d like that.

So that’s what he did, and this is what he sent her:

 

guns1969

War Hero
Several days later the SAS Kalahari docked at Barry and Algy's destination. They were both able to go ashore and take a look around before collecting their kit from the ship. It had been an eventful voyage for both, and Barry had particularly enjoyed seeing the keg of beer landed with such precision as they had travelled up the coast. He was not, however, impressed with the state of the shore establishment. He took a look at the foundation stone. Crikey, the stone had been laid 80 years previously by some Commodore in the RN, and it didn’t look like the place had any work done on it since then.

Algy, never one to be defeated, was more positive than his mate. “Listen,” he said, “I don’t think they’re going to make us stay here while the place is being renovated. Let’s go and see if we can find the OC of this dump.”

Well, fortunately for Barry and Algy there were some fine people in the town who organised accommodation for them. This was just as well because Nobulus was too busy to organise it himself and Jannie Kemp wasn’t being much help either, being more interested in celebrating with the settlers as they festooned the town with balloons and stuff.

Barry thought about his mom back home. I wonder what she is doing now, he mused. Well, I can just imagine – probably painting her nails and sitting under a hairdryer! I don’t suppose she’d want to come out and visit me here? Perhaps if I send her a postcard it might persuade her? Or better still, a video that she can play on her phone. She’d like that.

So that’s what he did, and this is what he sent her:

Went to East London in '71, on a Sunday, dirt roads and the place was literally closed ! (glad to get back on Beira Patrol.
 

sampost

Badgeman
Went to East London in '71, on a Sunday, dirt roads and the place was literally closed ! (glad to get back on Beira Patrol.
My great-grandfather ran a newspaper in Beira at one time. These were some reminiscences that he recorded in 1939:

The compilers of the ‘Revista Manica e Sofala’ think I have been long enough in Portuguese East Africa to write something about it.

My first acquaintance began in 1877 when a turn of malaria landed me in the old fort hospital at Lourenco Marques (Delagoa Bay it was then).

Getting better, a voyage up to Zanzibar on the Union Coaster ‘Kaffir’ gave the first sight of the Pungwe Estuary as the coasters had both Ciloane and Sofala down on their ports of call. Again at Lourenco Marques in 1886, I went on to Barberton with Bob Pettigrew who made the first road to the Kaap fields through Louws Creek. From Barberton and Swaziland I paid many visits to LM, and in 1895 came down from Pretoria with President Kruger after the festivities for the opening of the railway there to continue them at the port. A long stay this time, and the meeting of many interesting people.

The war against Gungunhana was on, and Mousinho d’Albuquerque, Freire d’Andrade, Conselheiro Ennes and many others to hold distinguished posts in Portugal were there.

I returned again in 1897 and came on to Beira, reaching this port on the 2nd January, 1898, and have enjoyed the hospitality of the Mocambique Company ever since.

The first view of Beira was more quaint than impressive. A long line of beach terminated in a sandy spit, fringed by mangroves, which was dotted about by quite a number of wood and iron edifices. Across the estuary at the Buzi mouth were the hulls of a couple of sailing ships which had got out of the channel and gone ashore.

(anyway, he describes the place beautifully and in detail and I have cut this short in order to post)


Turning to Beira today (ie: 1939), here is a port equipped far beyond the trade that the general depression has still left us. Some years ago, before the construction of the Pungwe wharf, the volume of traffic was testing our resources to the utmost. There was enough lighterage plant to take cargos to and from ship to shore, but there was a bottle neck. The wharves in the Chiveve Creek on the Customs and Railway banks could not empty the lighters. It caused heaps of congestion and enough outcry from Rhodesia and Nyasaland for an elaborate improvement scheme to go through. Now the Port of Beira Works have under their direction the Pungwe Wharf which with only three berths had a record of handling 80,000 tons in a month. To this – almost completed – are two new berths, making a wharf nearly a kilometre long. The lighterage wharf in the Chiveve – still in use with some privately owned lighters – could easily account for 40,000 tons per month. The Railway yard has been enlarged and improved to become one of the most important in Africa. The Twon has grown in size and appearance. The beautiful avenues, cement bedded streets well lighted and interspersed with parks and gardens have buried the old ‘Sand spit’ cognomen.

Beira can, in civic pride, challenge the opinion of all visitors.
 

sampost

Badgeman
Admiral Dashwood was in a very grumpy mood. He had been sauntering around in his pajamas for a few days, irritated at not being allowed to go outside and walk his hounds. Dammit, what did they think? That these corona virus’s were parachuting in from China like flipping dandelion seeds? Well, bugger them all, he cussed, if they don’t let me go outside soon I will…. And then he stopped, his chain of thought interrupted by his steward, young Jack Rattlin, who entered the library with a tray of tea and hobnobs.

“Ah, Jack,” he said. “What news of my son Bruce? I haven’t heard a darn thing since he set off for Gibraltar.”

“Word is, Sir, that he is on a splendid yacht. There was news from Tenerife that the Sagittarius had docked there recently and the lads were all having a grand time. You can be sure, Sir, that he is in good hands. That skipper is one of the best, and the crew really knows their stuff. I guess they’ll be setting off for Namzambique before long unless……”

“Unless what, Jack? Come on, spit it out boy!”

“Well, Sir, there are rumours of war. This whole China business, surely the Admiralty have briefed you?”

“They don’t tell me bugger all, Jack. Old admirals, they couldn’t give a toss about. Remember Fisher? Probably you don’t. You’re too young. Well, let me tell you, Jack, they ignore me at their peril. Now let me know the minute you hear any news of Bruce. That boy has given me enough to worry about over the years, I don’t want his yacht being sunk by a torpedo.

“Will do, Sir, now would you like me to go and feed the beagles or would you like to do it yourself today?”
 

sampost

Badgeman
Algernon meanwhile had secured lodgings on the slopes of Signal Hill, a short walk from the beach. He was a guest of Colonel Smedley Dawson-Lukin, a fine old fellow with a penchant for Port. The Colonel was pouring a glass for Algernon when he asked him whether Nobulus had hoisted his colours yet above the old base.

“No Sir”, Algernon replied, “I don’t believe he has. In fact, I don’t think he even has a flagpole. It seems to have been removed.”

“Well he must have one then,” the Colonel barked. “I believe I may have just the thing you require. Here, it’s a blue ensign with the stars of Orion in turquoise. Very popular design in Namzambique, though seldom flown. Seems the local population are eager not to offend the verbose trendy whatever-you-call-those people.”

“Well thank you very much Sir,” Algernon replied. ‘I think I had better get it down to the base as soon as possible just in case some bittereinde beats me to it!”

“Indeed” the Colonel agreed. Perhaps you should call for an Uber or would you like me to run you down there in the old chitty-chitty what what.

Algernon assured the Colonel that he was quite capable of getting back to the base unassisted. He thanked the Colonel for the lunch, did an elbow bump with his young factotum, climbed back on his bicycle and headed back towards Fleet Street.
 

sampost

Badgeman
Meanwhile, Barry decided that he would take a walk up to the town. He had a craving for something sweet, and there didn’t seem to be any shops anywhere near the base. He decided to take the route through the Queen’s Park, because he was less likely to get arrested for flouting the curfew that way. It was an interesting walk, and he greeted a lot of friendly animals as he ascended the hill to the main gate. A short distance from the gate he found Mrs Pillay’s Sweetie Shoppe. “I wonder if they are open?” he thought. “Hello, what’s this? It’s a little white van, and there’s a man inside.”

Barry stood 6 feet away from the van and addressed the man inside. “Is the sweetie shoppe open, sport?” he asked.

“Well, officially not, sailor boy. But if you knock and give the password, they might let you in.”

“And what is the password, mister?” Barry asked.

“Well, because you are a sailor boy, and because you asked nicely, I will tell you,” he replied. “It is this: When they ask you who is there, you must say: The Laughing Gnome, and then they will let you in.”

“Roger,” Barry replied, and did as instructed.

Once inside, Barry took a good look at what was on the shelves. “Hello lady,” he said. “Have you got any Old fashioned mint humbugs?”

“’Fraid not,” she replied.

“What about a Nux then?” he asked.

“Not that either,” the lady answered.

“Okay, how about a Caravan, one of those cracknel jobs or a tin of butterscotch.”

“Got none of that,” she said, “but perhaps I can interest you in a curry”.

“I don’t want a curry. It says Sweetie Shoppe on the window, don’t you have ANY sweeties here?”

“I’ve got a Toblerone. Would you like that?”

“No,” he said, “but I’ll have a can of Irn-bru.”

Barry paid the lady and then left the shop. He asked the man if he could have a lift further into the town but the man said he was struggling to get his van out of neutral. Barry, unimpressed, turned and headed back to the ship through the Queen’s Park. All that way for an Irn-bru, he thought. Just as well I didn’t get mugged en route. That would really have made my day.
 

sampost

Badgeman
The minute that Algernon had saddled up, Colonel Dawson-Lukin turned to his factotum and said, “Obvious, I have a task for you.”

Patrick Obvious Lithemba-Shangaan had worked with the Colonel for several years. He preferred to be called Obvious because it usually made people smile, but his closest friends called him Bubbles, because of his fondness for a particular brand of chocolate. Now he wondered what the Colonel had in mind.

“I want you to run down to the yacht club with this flag, then take the ski and paddle up to the base. If you can hoist it up the flagpole before Algernon gets there I will give you a chocolate button.”

Obvious looked at the flag. It was made of a red material with a beautiful cannon prominent in the middle. Quite attractive, he thought, but he replied “They don’t have a flagpole where Algernon is going, Colonel.”

“Then you must improvise, Obvious. See what you can find en route.”

Well Obvious realised that this would involve a bit of teamwork, and the chances were that Algernon would get to the base long before him, unless, of course, he had puncture or got diverted along the way. It would take more than a chocolate button to motivate him today. “What about that bottle of Pusser’s that you have tucked away, Colonel? Perhaps, if I get there first, I could share that with the people who help me along the way. That is, if anyone is about during this lockdown”

“Okay, that’s a deal,” the Colonel replied. “But you better get going now or you will never get there first. You had better run like the cheetah!”

Obvious took the flag and ran down the hill towards the yacht club nestled at the harbour entrance. The Colonel punched a few numbers into his cellphone and waited for the call to be answered.

“Hello Jimmy Jams,” he said, “I have a little bet to place with you!”
 

sampost

Badgeman
Having fed the hounds, Jack Rattlin reckoned he could risk taking them for a short walk around the estate. The grounds were extensive, rolling lawns designed by that Capability chap back in the days when faith could move mountains. He adjusted his scarf so that it covered his mouth and nose, a nice tartan scarf, a sort of deep green that matched his jacket, a gift from his aunt in the north.

The three hounds, Emma, Suzanna and Wedgwood bustled ahead sniffing energetically. Jack’s mind though was on other things. What if there was a war, he thought. Lord knows, there were enough reasons for one. The Admiral hadn’t indicated how he stood on the issue, being more concerned with the threads coming loose on his pajamas and complaining that nothing was made to last these days.

One of the beagles started barking at a bric that had been placed over a mole hole. Must be some activity down there, he thought. Those "little gentlemen in their velvet jackets" mining enthusiastically beneath the bountiful earth. Ah well, let them tunnel away, it wasn’t as if he was the gardener, no sir. Division of labour and all that. His job was to be a steward, and there was a lot of pride to be had in that.

Well Jack didn’t want to dwell on the subject. It unsettled him. He whistled for the hounds to come back and turned about. They headed back to the manor house together, but a dark cloud hung overhead and Jack wondered whether his life would still be the same come the end of the week.
 
BZ & Keep 'em coming, chuck.
Any deviation/variation (CADET*anyone?) is welcome here betwixt Newbie Qs & Pandemoniacs stuff.

*4 C -->T . . . needs must so add Yeast or similar
 

sampost

Badgeman
BZ & Keep 'em coming, chuck.
Any deviation/variation (CADET*anyone?) is welcome here betwixt Newbie Qs & Pandemoniacs stuff.
Thank you for your intervention, Bob, because my next chapter was likely to be a discussion between Emma the beagle and Adrian the mole, and I wouldn't want the cadet to think that I had lost the plot or was writing him a bedtime story.
 

sampost

Badgeman
Later that night, Emma the beagle ambled across the rolling lawn and sat next to the brick that covered the mole hole. She gently nudged the brick away, and whispered down the hole.

“Mr Mole, are you there,” she said.

“Yes, what is it you want?” he answered.

“I want to know why you are tunnelling away on my master’s lawn to fervently.”

“Well, if you must know, it is because I am blind, and I have been told that if I tunnel through here then I will eventually get to the other side. Then, miraculously, I will be cured and I will be able to see the sea.”

Emma sat down next to the hole, she looked up into the heaven’s and studied the stars. It was a clear night, but she felt that one of life’s mysteries had just been explained to her.

“Ok, well goodnight then, Mr Mole,” she said.

“Goodnight Emma,” he said, and Emma trotted back to join her pack.
 

sampost

Badgeman
Bruce Dashwood was feeling increasingly frustrated. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Tenerife, in fact he felt very much at home there. The place, for some reason, reminded him of Scotland, although he hadn’t found a nice tearoom that served a quality muffin with his favourite brew. No, the problem was that he really wanted to get to Billabongwe, and he wasn’t sure whether it was safe to proceed yet. Was there going to be a war, or wasn’t there?

Fortunately the lockdown regulations allowed him to walk up and down the quayside, so that helped to pass the time. He was fascinated by a foundation stone, which must have been put there eons ago. He couldn’t read the writing though, it had become weathered away.

He had to admit that the crew were a pleasant bunch, and gave him a lot of space. He really liked the yacht too. What an excellent way to travel, when I retire I could do a lot more of this, he thought.

Ah, Tenerife. A good place to be in quarantine. Well, it shouldn’t be too much longer. No doubt the diplomats were scurrying about – apparently some battleship had fired a missile across the bows of a Royal Navy vessel anchored further offshore, and the vessel had been rather taken aback.

What would happen next? Oh, to be a fly on the wall of the Consulate, he thought. He was anxious to haul down the yellow flag and proceed with the voyage.
 

sampost

Badgeman
Meanwhile, in Billabongwe, a special concession had been made regarding the lockdown regulations. A decree was issued whereby citizens could by telephone, whatsapp, telegram or other means order flags of their choice, flagpoles and assorted bunting to grace the exterior of their non-expropriated properties. This would be delivered by dispatch riders. Anyone with a bicycle and desirous of a little exercise, could volunteer their services to deliver the flags. Cyclists were requested to contact the La Belle Alliance Flag Company Limited who reserved the right to refuse delivery if they did not particularly admire the pattern on the fabric requested.

After weeks of confinement, the cyclists of Billabongwe issued a collective cheer. “What wonderful news” they all agreed. “I wonder whether this concession will spread to the rest of Namzambique?” they thought, collectively.

Would it? Would it indeed? Only time would tell.
 
Most of the residents of downtown Billabongwe took to the hitherto deserted beaches to rejoice and celebrate the arrival of their new-found freedom...

But stand fast poor Jasmine [shown below with her Yellow dhoby bucket]:

1587940433249.png
... that long cycle ride, together with her monthly visitation, combined to restricted Jazzer's ability
to shake a hoof with the same unrestrained vigour of her younger companions.
 

sampost

Badgeman
Once Obvious had reached the yacht club, he confidently launched one of the surf-ski’s onto the river. He had no fear of the water, remembering how he had spent many happy afternoons playing Streamers on the vlei when at school. In those days he’d had to take the train from town, but once he had reached the vlei he would always select his favourite paddle ski, Little Rebel, from the rack and join his team of Hippo’s to take on the Mighty Rhino’s. The games had been quite competitive, and the referee had many times had to sound the foghorn from his drone flying overhead.

What great days those had been! Once he understood the rules, the object of which was to get the ball into either bucket without injuries, he had taken to the sport like the proverbial duck to water, and his hero in the league had been a player for the Rams who had taken his team to victory against the so called Ironclads. Well, that was then and it had equipped him well for his current task, which was to get the flag to the base. Fortunately it was an incoming tide, and the wind was in his favour. All he needed now was for Algernon to get a puncture, and the Arsenal flag would be proudly flying above the base in no time! Or draped over the balcony, whatever.
 

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