HE WERE RIGHT PROUD OF HIS ORVIS.

Used t’ get it out of his trousers and show it to us. Nowadays, of course, ye can get locked up for that sort of thing. But in them days, yer could get away with murder.

Why, thee could go out in backyard, take thy kecks down an’ moon through inevitable gap in fence at neighbour – and never any repercussions, not from the law anyways.

Ye might get brick through window from enraged husband when he got home from work and his wife told him man next door ‘ad exposed himself through backyard fence.

But if she went down to local cop-shop to report it, there’d be no chance, not in them days. First of all she’d have to wake up desk sergeant, who’d be hunched up over his desk and well away in the land of nod.

“Hallo, hallo, hallo,” he’d say stretching and yawning. “What’s all this, then?”

Then he’d be busy squeezing the remains of his last cup of tea from his enormous moustache for a while.

“What seems t’ be trouble?” He’d say at last.

“Some character next door ‘as been mooning at me through garden fence.”

“Eh? Oh, be a man, lad! Seeing someone’s backside can’t ‘arm thee. Good grief! Ye would‘ve seen a darn sight more than that if thee were at battlefront like I were during war. What are ye, lad – a man or a mouse?”

“But I’m a woman! A housewife!”

“Ooh! Terribly sorry, lass! It must be thy shirt and tie – thy tweed suit, trilby ‘at – thy Doc Martin’s, khaki army socks, moustache and deep voice, as threw me! I do beg pardon! What is thy name, madam?”

“My name is Mary Chlorella Anthracite Shuttleworth.”

“Well look, Mrs. Shuttleworth, yer ladyship. It’s like this, see. Now if I went around investigating everyone who showed their bare backside in public, I’d not only be disturbing privacy of every poor bugger trying t’ have unhindered sly crap in parks and woods in this area – but I’d have no time for all me other duties. Not t’ mention massive great pile o’ paperwork it’d incur.“

No – there’d be no point in going down local cop-shop in them days.

Ye just ‘ad t’ fend for yerself – or get somebody else t’ do it for ye.

So she did! She went home and got husband to chuck brick through neighbour’s window.

Of course, neighbour complained t’ police and when they came round t’ ask Mr. Shuttleworth why he’d done it, he told ‘em fellah next door ‘ad been exposing himself through garden fence at wife.

That way, she got mooning neighbour prosecuted for indecent exposure, but still ‘ad t’ pay fine for breach o’ peace an’ wilful damage t’ council property – plus actually pay t’ have window fixed as well.

But it were worth it, she decided. Well worth it! Besides, her husband paid for it out of wages like, not her. Didn’t cost her a ruddy cent.

Our dad were still right proud of his orvis, though. But it just weren’t right t’ keep it in his trousers. Daft old bugger, yer couldn’t tell him anything.

No wonder he looked all lumpy, with bloody orvis stuck down trouser leg.

Mind thee, he looked all lumpy in his baggy old trousers anyway, like a sack o’ potatoes tied up ugly, I always thought. ‘Specially with that silly owd bit o’ string tied round middle, like!

An orvis down yer trousers! I ask thee!

But then, that’s Ernie Postlethwaite for ye!

He’d gone all the way down that ruddy great hill t’ buy it, an all – and then all the ruddy way back up again – just t’ go and stuff it down his ruddy trousers.

What a waste! But then, he ‘ad a fetish, y’ see.

“Ah just love the feel of a nice soft warm orvis agin me thighs,” he said.

“But what ‘appens when it gets cold, dad?”

“Why, I wear an overcoat, ye daft bugger!”

Yer couldn’t fool him. There were no flies on him at all!

It were bloody amazing really: there we’d all be in stifling heat-wave in mid-summer, with flies buzzing all round our heads and dive-bombing us, and there he’d be – no flies on him at all! Lucky beggar! If he only knew what it were like t’ be harassed again and again by pesky flies!

When I were a nipper and me mum used t’ take me shopping with her at weekends, she always told me t’ do oop me flies. “Do oop yer flies, Dudley,” she said. I never understood what she meant – but people would stare and stare as she knelt down and leaned forward and buttoned oop me trouser front.

Them as stood behind her would be ‘orrified, convinced she were performing indecent act on a minor in public.

But when I looked down, I couldn’t see any flies. Do oop me flies? I’d like to do them flies in – when they come bugging me in summer!

I once read that time flies when thee are enjoying thyself.

Ye know, try and try as I may I’ve never been able t’ identify any time flies – blowflies, mayflies, dragonflies, butterflies and all sorts of other flies – but never any timeflies.

And what on earth have flies got t’ do with thee enjoying thyself, anyhow?

It joost dawn’t mek no sense t’ me!

Time flies do what – when thee are enjoying thyself?

Boogered if I know!

If thee ever find out, please let me know. It’s completely beyond me.

But then – I’m just simple lad from oop north! Know what I mean, like?