When they reached the shore Callum McCallum had a line of patients all aligned outside his tent. BT McG and Haemish sat on a washed up log along side the river.
“How did they take us by surprise Sergeant-Major? Never hap’end before. One minute we were all a spread across the field and the next thing was the whoosh-crack of the Moth Mortars. They were everywhere..
“We are get’n lax Haemish, lax. Too many easy victories. Thank the good Lord that the Colonel arrived ‘fore we were over run.. Would’nt want to write home about that. Should have had more scouts out – no doubt about it. Even then I am afraid that we never would have seen those mortars ‘fore they hit us.. Big as bowling balls they were.. must be a huge one to throw such a size.. The Dragon Dragoon Guards are aloft looking for them as we speak.. got 100 gallon drums of cheap perfume to drop on their poor benighted souls.. mixed in with washing up detergent to make it stick.. Now that should throw them Pyrates for a loop.
“I surely hope so.. Not used being on the lose’n side of anything. No like poor Beauregard and that civil war his great gran’dad were in.. good thing he can cook to take his poor troubled mind off it…”
“Haemish, Haemish. Beauregard is far too concerned about the current state of Pyrate resurgence to trouble his mind about that.. and the difficulties of a good soufflé in a field kitchen.”
Just then Callum McCallum yelled out “Next” and the two slowly picked themselves up and brushing themselves thoroughly – Callum would tolerate no messy patients – limped into the medical tent..
“Callum do you have any medicinal brandy?” asked RSM McGruph. “Just in case I pass out.”
Callum hit him with his walking stick.
“Fine bed-side manner you have…”
About Me
- Miss Pancake Taylor
- I am Miss Pancake Taylor. I have come from very far away to take care of my family Craig and Zita and Niamh and Emmet. Sometimes I have helpers; my friends the Blackthorn-Badgers. They are very old Scotsmen. I am very glad to meet you.
Monday, 14 June 2010
Thursday, 10 June 2010
The Battle of The Rath (Part 2)
The Colonel turned and raised a bushy eyebrow. “Now it’s himself.. Glad to see you back Sergeant-Major. Sorry about leaving you by your-own but.. The boys owe you a lot. Most all made it here.. Lost three of the Imperious Zouaves to those da’md Moth Mortars… Still could have been worse, much worse if no for you and yours.. Close thing though.. Heart nearly stopped as I waited for those trees to fall ‘cross the canyon.. I sh’ant complain about yon hideous great axe again.. Well not often. Glad to tell you your corporal made it back, Pipes and all. Lost all his music though.
Now Rhome Clay flew off with a message to home - they said The McOinquele will be bring’en them BlackShips of his up to bring us home, though it will be a few days I su’pect what with them Pyrates wonder’en willy nilly ‘bout the place, so Halvadar-Major Finehorn has the boys dug in ‘cross the heights ‘hind you. The Pioneers have whittled up a catapult or two .. and hammered stakes into the river to discourage visitors..”
Haemish-Mór interrupted. “Dugal have y’seen Callum? McG and I need some mending ‘fore we goes all floppy..”
“Heavens Haemish, Heavens! and me prattl’en on like that.. Certainly now, certainly. He‘s set up his tent down by the river. Monsieur Beauregard is there too. Says he is prepar’en a srcum’tious repast.. hy your own selves over and get set to right.. you should have…”
Haemish waved his hand. “Dugal y’have ‘nuff to worry ‘bout without tenden to the odd slice here and there.. Hope Beauregard is making croissants.. brought my own jam don’ch’a know. Did we ask ArchiBold to bring supplies ‘long with his ships? Runn’en a bit short of marmalade for ‘morn’en toasts…”
Regimental Sergeant-Major McGruph stumbled. No matter how desperate the situation the two Rhinosasauri never let it get in the way of their appreciation (if not pre-occupation) of fine jams. Thankfully Beauregard was the finest baker north of New Orleans and kept Haemish and Callum stuffed to the gills when ever possible.
Now Rhome Clay flew off with a message to home - they said The McOinquele will be bring’en them BlackShips of his up to bring us home, though it will be a few days I su’pect what with them Pyrates wonder’en willy nilly ‘bout the place, so Halvadar-Major Finehorn has the boys dug in ‘cross the heights ‘hind you. The Pioneers have whittled up a catapult or two .. and hammered stakes into the river to discourage visitors..”
Haemish-Mór interrupted. “Dugal have y’seen Callum? McG and I need some mending ‘fore we goes all floppy..”
“Heavens Haemish, Heavens! and me prattl’en on like that.. Certainly now, certainly. He‘s set up his tent down by the river. Monsieur Beauregard is there too. Says he is prepar’en a srcum’tious repast.. hy your own selves over and get set to right.. you should have…”
Haemish waved his hand. “Dugal y’have ‘nuff to worry ‘bout without tenden to the odd slice here and there.. Hope Beauregard is making croissants.. brought my own jam don’ch’a know. Did we ask ArchiBold to bring supplies ‘long with his ships? Runn’en a bit short of marmalade for ‘morn’en toasts…”
Regimental Sergeant-Major McGruph stumbled. No matter how desperate the situation the two Rhinosasauri never let it get in the way of their appreciation (if not pre-occupation) of fine jams. Thankfully Beauregard was the finest baker north of New Orleans and kept Haemish and Callum stuffed to the gills when ever possible.
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
A New Story for Miss Niamh
The Battle of The Rath (Part 1)
Late in the day a small and rather tattered TBear stumbled down a dusty path and followed it into the cool and lightly specked woods. He sat down and re-banged his arm.
He opened his canteen, but it was empty. He knew it was empty; it was the fourth time that day he had checked it, but the day had been so spectacularly strange he had not given up on the possibility that it would spontaneously fill itself. It had not; but it was cool in the woods and he smelt running water not so far away, so he struggled to his feet and picked up the Lochaber Axe and hung his small pack from it, and set off to find the source of the smell.
He hoped he would find some of his company there. They had all been nearly out of water when the first wave of Waziwill Pyrates rushed them, so they too would be looking for somewhere safe to rest and sew up their wounds and fill their canteens. Without water they would soon dry out and become floppy... what a fate for any self respecting TBear .. not him, nor his, he said to himself and started humming "The Black Bear" hoping that his piper was all right... The last he saw of him he had wrapped his pipes around his arm as a shield and was throwing rock-hard scones at the advancing Pyrates... bodies already littered the ground in front of him.
Regimental Sergeant-Major Theodore McGruph never gave up hope, he never had and never would, even in the midst of many a disaster he was the one they all looked to steady all ‘round him. Anyway his piper was one of the Black McOinqueles of Kinloch-Moitheria and they bred them tough in the Western Isles.
The footing was soft, years of pine trees had left a soft floor for the forest, more importantly to McGruph it was quiet. As the sound of water grew louder he grew more cautious. He parted the undergrowth and peered down the crest to the stream; a small stone dropped on his head.
He rolled to his left and pumped a shell into his shortened Model 97 Winchester. His nose must have let him down. He searched the trees above with no results, but his fur was all-a-tingle. He knew there was something there that shouldn’t be there, but where? A snort broke the silence and a rather generously sized Rhinosasauris repelled out of the tree above.
“Yer loosing yer touch Sergeant-Major. I watched as y’plodded the way up the hill. A steam engine would have made less of a fuss.”
He sat down and adjusted two safety pins holding his arm closed. “My brother should be here soon with his medical kit.. Put us all to right.
Come down to the stream most of the lads are here and we have called in for air-support. Lord there was loads of them; and the smell, good Lord the smell!”
RSM McGruph stood up and kicked the Rhino’s undamaged leg - hard.
“Now there’s no reason to be fussy.. McG, no reason at’ll.. Anyway it were not a big stone.”
McG kicked him again.. “You scared five pounds off me and you the one who needs to lose the weight. Haemish-Mor if you ever..”
“Well I will.. just can’t help myself y’know.. Anyway The Colonel is down there rounding everyone up and digging in. Says it worked for the Legions and we have grenade launcher so all will be well.. He says it as if he believes it, and well y’never know with him .. it might be true.. He is a sly one. Did I ever tell you about the time in Tangiers? Well let me say y’never..”
McGruph, who had heard the story more times than his granny ate honey smiled and picked up the axe (pack still attached) and wondered down the hill with his friend. A home at least for now. He started to whistle…
Late in the day a small and rather tattered TBear stumbled down a dusty path and followed it into the cool and lightly specked woods. He sat down and re-banged his arm.
He opened his canteen, but it was empty. He knew it was empty; it was the fourth time that day he had checked it, but the day had been so spectacularly strange he had not given up on the possibility that it would spontaneously fill itself. It had not; but it was cool in the woods and he smelt running water not so far away, so he struggled to his feet and picked up the Lochaber Axe and hung his small pack from it, and set off to find the source of the smell.
He hoped he would find some of his company there. They had all been nearly out of water when the first wave of Waziwill Pyrates rushed them, so they too would be looking for somewhere safe to rest and sew up their wounds and fill their canteens. Without water they would soon dry out and become floppy... what a fate for any self respecting TBear .. not him, nor his, he said to himself and started humming "The Black Bear" hoping that his piper was all right... The last he saw of him he had wrapped his pipes around his arm as a shield and was throwing rock-hard scones at the advancing Pyrates... bodies already littered the ground in front of him.
Regimental Sergeant-Major Theodore McGruph never gave up hope, he never had and never would, even in the midst of many a disaster he was the one they all looked to steady all ‘round him. Anyway his piper was one of the Black McOinqueles of Kinloch-Moitheria and they bred them tough in the Western Isles.
The footing was soft, years of pine trees had left a soft floor for the forest, more importantly to McGruph it was quiet. As the sound of water grew louder he grew more cautious. He parted the undergrowth and peered down the crest to the stream; a small stone dropped on his head.
He rolled to his left and pumped a shell into his shortened Model 97 Winchester. His nose must have let him down. He searched the trees above with no results, but his fur was all-a-tingle. He knew there was something there that shouldn’t be there, but where? A snort broke the silence and a rather generously sized Rhinosasauris repelled out of the tree above.
“Yer loosing yer touch Sergeant-Major. I watched as y’plodded the way up the hill. A steam engine would have made less of a fuss.”
He sat down and adjusted two safety pins holding his arm closed. “My brother should be here soon with his medical kit.. Put us all to right.
Come down to the stream most of the lads are here and we have called in for air-support. Lord there was loads of them; and the smell, good Lord the smell!”
RSM McGruph stood up and kicked the Rhino’s undamaged leg - hard.
“Now there’s no reason to be fussy.. McG, no reason at’ll.. Anyway it were not a big stone.”
McG kicked him again.. “You scared five pounds off me and you the one who needs to lose the weight. Haemish-Mor if you ever..”
“Well I will.. just can’t help myself y’know.. Anyway The Colonel is down there rounding everyone up and digging in. Says it worked for the Legions and we have grenade launcher so all will be well.. He says it as if he believes it, and well y’never know with him .. it might be true.. He is a sly one. Did I ever tell you about the time in Tangiers? Well let me say y’never..”
McGruph, who had heard the story more times than his granny ate honey smiled and picked up the axe (pack still attached) and wondered down the hill with his friend. A home at least for now. He started to whistle…
News from the Home Front
The Fearsome Fencibles are out sprucing up the Bentley... then it is off to the Dairy Queen for lunch and a sprint to a picnic at Fort Wellington..
We have ordered a Gatling gun... Who know you could buy them with airplane points...
When Mrs T has more insulation placed in the attic we will install it behind the front vents; overlooking the pond... that and the tethered mines should provide a modicum of safety from Pyrates.. The exploding mechanical ducks have proven to be a technological disappointment.. ahhh well
A small administrative note Magie the dog has accepted a brevet commission in the Queen's Own Pigs Irregulars...
Scots W'hay!
And now More... Gatling gun has arrived. Waiting for ammunition. Must have forget to check that box... Have offered to rent the Regiment out to the Government to protect all the Brass at the G-8 and G-20 and we have a REAL lake we will throw in free.. and we can supply "The Marching Pipes and Accordions" to boot.. cheap too!
Call collect!
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