Ye Olde High Lane

A Memory of High Lane.

I moved to High Lane with my parents when I was 15 in 2000. It was a tiny old fashioned village, so tiny infact that there was only one house and everybody in the village lived there. There was one village shop (run by Tubbs and Edward) and this doubled as the village police station,school,church and pub. The local mayor was also the village bobby,vicar,schoolmaster and pub landlord. The local fire brigade was just one man (and he used a water pistol) and the only public transport was a horse. There was just one road that ran through the village and that was made from straw and had to be brought indoors when it rained. The village was so old fashioned that everything and everybody was in black and white and there was no electricity,gas or running water. The villagers didn't like anything newfangled and were suspicous of anyone who was "not local". I remember the day we moved there and my dad pulled up in his car which sent shockwaves through the village. Nobody in the village had ever seen a car before and my dad was accused of "travelling but not on legs". Before long there were cries of "He's a bloody sorcerer"! and "burn the witch"! The next thing we knew we were being chased by a gang of locals wielding burning crosses. We got away by running to the next village, and luckily nobody in High Lane would set foot in the next village as it was seen as being "in foreign parts" and the locals thought they would catch the plague if they went there. When we returned we were thrown into the village stocks and pelted with sticks and stones until the locals were satisfied that they had "driven the devil from our souls". Unfortunately this took three weeks. After that we were a little more accepted by the locals and my parents tried to enrol me in the village school. However, when it was realised that I could write my name the schoolmaster declared that I was "a man of great wisdom who knows many things" and I was given the job of headteacher instead. My new career came to an abrupt end the following week when my mother was caught listening to a transistor radio by some of the locals. They believed it was "a box of evil spirits speaking but not in native tongue" and my mother was tried as a witch and consigned to the ducking stool. After that I was told that I was unsuitable as a teacher and the local mayor who at three and twenty years was the oldest man in the village said that I was "the spawn of satan seeking to indoctrinate the babes of the parish into the ways of beelzebub" and I was forced to resign. I got a new job at the local syrup and treacle mines which was the only industry in the village after the closure of the Broken Biscuit Repair works. I was told that my working hours would be "From whence the cock crows 'til the fiery ball weighs heavy in the sky" and I was paid three groats a week. Unfortunately the mines closed the following week after 300 years of mining failed to reveal any syrup or treacle whatsoever. The locals blamed this on me and the local vicar told me that I had "brought seven and twelvety curses on our homestead with all your wickedness". After that I couldn't get a job anywhere in High Lane and everywhere I went I was chased away by locals with pitchforks and around every corner they were whispering about me referring to me as "the evilous one" and muttering about "a prophecy of doom". Without a job there wasn't much to do in High Lane except for watching the public floggings and executions on the village green or watching people being stretched on the rack. The only other source of local entertainment was watching the traffic lights change on the edge of the next village. This was very popular with the locals who called them "the magical eyes" and how they cheered and rejoiced when they changed from red to green. The changing of the traffic lights was such a local event that the town crier would walk into the village ringing his bell to announce it everytime it happened which could be a little tiresome especially when you were trying to get to sleep at night. In 2001 I met a girl from the next village and we decided to get married. The locals were furious as there was a strict local tradition of in-breeding and the vicar refused to marry us unless I could prove that she was my sister. They also disliked my girlfriend because she had short hair and they therefore couldn't be sure if she was "a tail or a no tail". Nevertheless, we decided to move in together until one night when we were rudely awoken in the small hours by a mob of angry locals waving crucifixes and wielding axes and scythes. As I was dragged from my bed I noticed outside the window there was a burning stake which I was informed we would be tied to "until you live no more". At that point we decided the most sensible option would be to leave the village, which we did immediately. As we ran for our lives we saw in the distance the locals dancing and rejoicing and straw efforgies of ourselves burning at the stake. We live in Manchester now but we still miss living in High Lane it's such a quaint olde worlde little place.


Added 26 July 2009

#225393

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