A Boy Named Q: Family History (part 1)
Scrabbletales is a new game invented by Mogmother and Optimist on the Run on 19/11/2017
- Play a game of Scrabble (proper rules or not...)
- Record all the words used.
- Use all the words in a short story.
Mogmother then wondered what to do with her stories once she’d got them... Puzzle caches, of course!
The cache is not hidden at the above co-ordinates. Please park with consideration for local people. At the GZ, please proceed with stealth and replace the cache carefully. Although this area is open 24/7, it is much frequented by dog-walkers and may be somewhat insalubrious after dark.
The cache is hidden at:
N (year of Oswy’s birth, -1900, - word used to describe format of wool) (Year of Jeremiah’s birth, -1900, - (name of Hammurabi’s father, less name of Hammurabi’s grandmother)) (year of Horatius’ birth, -1000, + ( word for cigarettes, less word for explosive substance))
W (Name of Hammurabi’s grandfather, less word meaning move in water) (Age of Jeremiah in 1978, reversed) (score for both words using K plus the boy’s surname, x (substance obtained from some cetaceans+2))
[Where ‘word’ is mentioned, this refers to words from the original Scrabble game, not extra ones added to make up the story. However, some of the names were too useful to leave out...! Ignore the possibility of Double Word Scores and Triple Letter Scores etcetera: just add up the letters.]
Words: skein, plonk, jihads, snorter, baleen, equip, nitre, area, of, vine, duct, sound, butt, zone, white, vamp, fags, fit, ogee, he, weevil, lay, aglow, swim, sorer, ray, true (ao)
A Boy Named Q: Family History (part 1)
Quentin Hammurabi Mortmain was holding a skein of fluffy white wool while his mother wound it into a ball. Jeremiah smiled at this domestic scene as he came in with a tea-tray, though the boy was plainly not listening to a word of his mother’s rant about the dangers of vine weevil.
‘Hammurabi, what have I just said?’ she demanded, coming up short against a hitch in the wool.
The boy disentangled it and looked back at her. ‘That plants should not be imported so carelessly. Another of your jihads… Like that against persons too ill-bred to use saucers.’
Jeremiah stood there with the tray for a minute or two before asking, ‘Dost want me to pour it out? It’s mashed by now…’
‘Oh, plonk it somewhere.’ Mrs. Mortmain swept papers off the corner of the table with her elbow and continued to wind the wool. ‘Your leg’s better, I see…’
‘Yes, thank you, Ma’am.’ Jeremiah said gravely. ‘Will that be all?’
He made his escape and went back to the small room off the corridor where he had installed a small refrigerator, an armchair, and the makings of tea. Hammurabi had added a new duct and more wiring to the Long Gallery bell so that it would sound not only in the kitchen far below, but in this new cubby-hole. He had also offered to equip him with a telephone extension, but Jeremiah had refused: the answerphone downstairs was quite adequate for screening out unwanted calls.
It had been an odd day. Hammy had been sorting through the paperwork which had been in his grandfather’s trunk, and then had suddenly thrust it all back into the deed-box and locked it, and gone charging off outside to see how the subsidence was progressing. When Jeremiah had caught up with him at the edge of the danger zone, he had argued that the steps down to the shore were cut into solid rock and would therefore be safe to venture... and when Jeremiah had enquired as to the reason for his sudden interest in the area, he had said he wanted to swim.
At this, Jeremiah had simply looked him up and down (thick coat and wellington boots, no sign of any swimsuit or towel, and the rain coming down stair-rods) and stood there, waiting for the true explanation.
As he had by now come to expect, Hammurabi had refused to divulge his intentions, but was fortunately distracted by the idea of setting up a few straw bales in the coach-house as an archery butt: Amalthea seemed to have no objection to their presence and the boy’s accuracy had improved to the point where neither Jeremiah nor the goat was in any danger...
The bell rang again. Jeremiah got up slowly and went to find out what was required.
‘Grimsdyke, you remember Horatius, don’t you? Hammurabi has been asking me about his grandfather.’ Mrs. Mortmain smiled at him. The wool had vanished and paperwork had resumed. ‘Old Mrs. Owthwaite would have been the person to ask, but she too is no longer with us…’
‘Oh, aye. I remember Horatius.’ Jeremiah spoke without enthusiasm. ‘Died of drink, the year I turned thirty four. The summer after the Queen’s silver jubilee, it was. Marion never said owt, but she were younger nor me, and he was born in ’21… I doubt she missed him, poor lass.’
There was an uncomfortable silence, apart from the rain lashing against the windows.
‘De mortuis nil nisi bonum…’ Hammurabi murmured. ‘The death certificate says heart disease…’
‘That were part of it, I’m sure.’ Jeremiah growled. ‘But there’s plenty of folk in these parts wi’ nowt good to say of him… Your Pa, now: he were another matter. ‘
‘Yes, Oswy was a wonderful man.’ Mrs. Mortmain smiled, suddenly aglow. Hammurabi pulled a face and turned back to the computer. ‘He was seventeen when Horatius died… I do wish poor Oswy had lived longer-‘
At that moment a particularly strong gust rattled the windows. Something fell to the floor.
‘It’s going to be a real snorter again. I wish that sash cord would turn up.’ Hammurabi muttered, reaching for the wad of paper which lay at his mother’s feet, then getting up and jamming it back in place. ‘Once the windows can be opened properly, they can be painted - and Jeremiah says he can dovetail pieces in so they fit better…’
‘He’s a very talented man.’ Mrs. Mortmain’s smile was a ray of hopeful sunshine. ‘You must learn all you can from him, Hammurabi-‘
‘Oh, his father were better nor me at fettling.’ Jeremiah took a deep breath. ‘And, credit where credit’s due, so was his grandfather. Used to tip me for running errands- mostly fetching his beer or fags, mind you- and taught me a lot… Never to let the air get to nitre, to start with. I’ve seen him mend a fishing-rod with a strip of baleen from his ma’s old corset… and he made the new frames for the ogee windows on the lodge that used to stand by the ford… and he could dance, and vamp a tune- but he was sorer when crossed than a gentleman ought to be.’
He was watching Hammurabi as he spoke, saw the boy nod slowly, eyes narrowed. Yes, you know something, Jeremiah thought, collecting the tea-tray. But how much do you know?
FTF - Two Nosy Parkers -FTF