As well as being a successful author, Jack Prescott was regular contributor to Feathered World. He has been sadly missed, but he did leave a manuscript for a further book the serialisation of which we begin this month.
Many years ago, when I had unlimited faith in human nature, I knew a certain Mr Tom Lister, of Darnall, Sheffield. This gentleman was a Flying Tippler man belonging to an organisation headed by Mr Siddall, also from Darnell.
It came to pass that one evening a young lad arrived at my back door with a message from Tom. I was to go to Tom's house in Nightingale Street, urgent-like - so off I went and was soon in the back yard of Tom Lister's house.
The terraced houses in Nightingale Street each had their own back yards and Tom kept his Tipplers at the far end of the yard. Tom was waiting for me and explained that his wife had 'tippled down' (dialect meaning fallen down). He wanted to take her by tram to the hospital, but he had three Tippler hens flying, in training which needed to be supervised and dropped conventionally to droppers - to the lamps when it was dark.
'How did the wife tipple down?' I asked.
'Well, owd luv - thou knows how they are - dashing about, shifting invisible muck,' said Tom.
I said 'I know how they are, owd luv.'
Tom said 'Can I leave it to thee, Jack?'
'Of course thou can, own luv.'
Off Tom went with his wife and I was left in the back yard to watch the kit of three hens. However, I was not alone, Tom's dog Rex was with me, a great black giant of a dog, of doubtful ancestry - said by Tom to be as daft as a brush - as daft as an owd booat 'orse (boat horse).
As I sat there keeping watch on the three Tipplers, Rex and I became great pals. He was constantly giving a pant and seemed to like me to rub his head. Personally, I was never too fond of dogs and even less of cats.
As daylight faded I could see that one of the hens was showing signs of fatigue, so I lit the two lamps and threw out the four white cross Fantail droppers. Straight away the tired hen dropped to the droppers, the other two dropped nervously about half-an-hour later.
I soon had all of the issue inside the loft where I fed and watered them, as instructed. I then tried to leave the loft, but Rex had other ideas. He was transformed into a huge slavering monster, determined to kill. I picked up the loft broom to ward him off, but it was chewed up in ten seconds flat. What with the terrible noise from the dog, combined with my abuse, a neighbour decided to call the police, thinking that Rex had cornered a burglar
A sergeant and a constable arrived and with help from a neighbour who knew the dog, soon had him tied up. At last I was free. The cops thought they had a case. I explained, and a neighbour knew me, so all was well. Suddenly the two cops were laughing - but I was not amused.
The caper lasted at least an hour - I was sick as a boiled owl.
