Writing for Fun
December 2016
A Cautionary Tale - Vivian Burdon
Mrs Bickerstaff stood on her red front step watching the distant fields for signs of her little Bertie. Mrs Bickerstaff, Beryl to those in Kimberly Lane whose front steps were still familiar with the properties of Cardinal Red, was always looking out for her little Bertie.
If you were passing by chance and were to inquire after her little Bertie you would never have heard Mrs Bickerstaff calling him a naughty child or overheard her say he was a mischievous little scallywag. No, you were more likely to hear her boast that her little Bertie was ‘precociously inquisitorial’, ‘an investigator of all things ornithological’. Then in hushed tones she would advise you that this was a trait attributed to her Stanley. That would be Stanley Bickerstaff late of the parish on account of his fatal falling from a tree rescuing his errant racing pigeon.
On the other hand, if you were to pass by another day and were to join in the conversations of Mrs Bickerstaff’s neighbours you would hear a different tale. A tale of disobedience and naughtiness, for all the neighbours were agreed (whether they were acquainted with Cardinal Red or not) that Mrs Bickerstaff’s little Bertie was the scourge of Kimberly Lane.
For they all knew that little Bertie’s ornithological inquisitorialness was just an excuse to climb trees, and walls and anything else that would get the scoundrel up high enough to spy on things he shouldn’t spy on or throw stones at things he shouldn’t throw stones at. They had scolded and reprimanded and warned little Bertie of all the dangers of climbing and stone throwing until their faces were red, as red as Mrs Bickerstaff’s Cardinal Red front doorstep. All to no avail.
Now, if you know Kimberly Lane you would also know that the march of time and technology had made its presence felt on the tiny parish. For striding across the fields are pylons holding aloft the marvellous electricity that allowed more studious little boys to do their homework or read their scriptures before bedtime. But this is not for our little Bertie. To Mrs Bickerstaff’s naughty son those steel giants hailed a new era of exceptional escapades and daring dos.
To the residents of Kimberly Lane the signs were there for all to see, Bertie Bickerstaff crouching in the hedgerow, his binoculars focused on those little birds in a row, chattering merrily on the wires high in the blue sky. ‘Oh dear of dear,’ they cooed below, what should they do. But Mrs Bickerstaff, Beryl to some, would have none of their fears. Her little Bertie was a good boy after all.
The neighbours warned Bertie almost every day ‘that he should take care with electricity as it wasn’t very safe. You would hear them cry out, ‘Bertie, Bertie you should take care, be careful what you climb even if you have no fear.’ and ‘Bertie Bickerstaff don’t climb so high for unlike those birdies you will fry. You see for birdies those high wires are foliage but for little boys like you they are pure high voltage.’
Bertie Bickerstaff as you all may have guessed took no notice of the neighbours’ warnings. He ignored his mother’s request to give up ornithology. He also ignored the Power Company’s Safety Notices that warned him of the danger of electrocution. So on a hot day in August, up he climbed. Stupid Bertie climbed up that pylon without caution or care. Of course as we all know the careless will fall and so did our Bertie, his body splayed across three cables fried like a hog on a spit. The flash was seen for miles, and his limbs and torso soon were charred and blackened. Bertie Bickerstaff was super-conductive until bits of him fell off and the circuit was broken.
Poor Beryl, as she is now known to all the residents of Kimberly Lane, sat sniffing in her parlour while the neighbours chewed over stale sandwiches and tales of Bertie’s grizzly end. What was left of Bertie had been buried that morning, the funeral people recommending that a cremation would be unnecessary.
So to all you naughty boys who like birds or just climbing take care not to think high voltage wires won’t harm you. And to you foolish parents ignoring a naughty child is a mistake, because they might end up like Bertie – a well done beef steak!