Fair Enough


There were three and three till the sky came down

Keeping it all up where could

Trying always to protest the brood

Till in the end they saw the exposure

No one left to make the closure

Learning as you go

To tell the evil no

Escape the terror and check it all on the way back home


Time had come for Jack, John and Jeremy to pack their bags. Time for stretching their legs, sowing their oats and breaking out into the wide world beyond the farm. They all set off together, but separated at the crossroads. Jack waived down a cab and headed for the city. John caught a bus and took the country route through the forest.

Jeremy liked the hills and wandered away through them. Separately and together, they all looked back at the farm where mum was watching them with tears in her eyes.


Jeremy plodded over the paths and rounded the lake seeing little except for excited folk running down the path, ducking as they went.

‘It’s a coming,’ squawked the Leader. ‘We need to let them know.’

‘Know what?’ said Jeremy.

‘Need to tell everyone,’ said the Leader. ‘Follow us and we will show you.’

‘Well ok then,’ said Jeremy.

Off they continued, over the hill and then another hill again. Soon Jeremy was well behind and when he crossed the next top he saw them far ahead, entering the large forest ahead.


‘I don’t think so,’ thought Jeremy as he stopped beside a dyke.

Time was getting on so he decided to make camp.

‘Not a lot here,’ he thought.

He looked around at the corn field and took sheaves from it to make a hut.

He had seen it all done on TV by Ray Mears.

Jeremy arranged the straw against the wall for support and remembered to secure the ridge. All was fine.


He also remembered to keep a fire by the hut to keep the cold away. He toiled with the stone, stick and string for twenty minutes until a spark was generated. The load hay ignited and soon after that the resultant flame jumped to the hut and soon the hut was on fire.

Jeremy stood there in his ignorance and thought, ‘I need to get out of this,’

He packed his gear and headed for the road he hoped would take him to houses.

He hadn’t packed a compass and he didn’t have a map.

‘I’ll check the web,’ he thought.

What he hadn’t thought was that in the country signals are rare in places. He also hadn’t thought to wear an analogue watch; didn’t know how to use that for direction either.

He was on his own and the sky was falling.


John arrived at the old village and saw the sign.

‘Real Ale,’ it proclaimed.

It was beside another sign which said Red Lion.

‘That will do for me,’ he thought as he unloaded his pack from the bus.

John managed to get the last room at the pub, just in time.

As he sat with a pint of Doom Bar, a shrieking column emerged from the forest, around the village. The Leader rushed up to the bar.

‘Quick, quick,’ said the Leader. ‘We need protection from above. It’s after us you know and it may get you too.’

‘There are no rooms left,’ said the barman. ‘That man over there took the last room.’

The Leader approached John and screeched out at him.

‘We need your room. How much.’

‘No deal,’ said John. ‘I have made it here and in these oak beams I remain. Anyway, I intend to get a little drunk then sleep it off. So no chance.’

‘You’ll regret it,’ said the Leader as he and his procession left the building. ‘It will be a big downer on you.’

‘Fair enough,’ said John.

John settled inside the ingle neuk and roasted in the fireplace as many pints of Doom Bar came his way. He fell into a sleep and fell forward towards the flames. To save himself from falling, he grasped a lit log. This sufficed to stop the drop, but feeling the burning in his hands John threw it away. It landed on the shag carpet in the lounge.

The barman emerged and threw an open bottle to dampen the burning carpet. Little did he know, but all liquid did not quench flames. The litre of Maccallan fuelled it. Soon the bar was on fire. John managed to gather his bag and escape the burning pub.

‘Maccallan,’ he thought. ‘Not much of a barman.’

John headed for the woods.


Jack had made it to the city and relished in the attractions. Work he found at the end of a tube ride, in Isleworth. Sky headquarters loomed big between Brentford and Twickenham and gave him an easy introduction to the news and sport medium. He was right in there with the bricks and liaised with the planners. The biggest topic was the Murdoch takeover and the peoples concern of the 1984ish capitalist development worldwide. Here they flocked with the Leader bringing them all together from across the country to picket the site.

‘The Sky is coming down,’ they shouted.

The Hendricks shouted. The Cockneys shouted. The Duncans shouted. They all shouted. The Turkish had other plans.

‘Let’s burn them out,’ they said. ‘Stone them as they come.’

Looking out below them the Sky managers wondered.

‘I hope you’ve got this on camera,’ the executive barked.

The producer squirmed and phoned the crews. The crews were not too happy.

‘Don’t like it mate. They’re evil mate.’

The Turks ran in behind the security and piled cardboard boxes at the door.

‘Where did they get them,’ said Jack.

‘Returns,’ said the Operations Manager. ‘Sky Protect.’

The fire grew in tumultuous flames grasping at the structure panels and quickly igniting the whole building. Internally though all was well as the new sprinkler system started. Progressively the fire was reduced and left for Richmond Fire Brigade to dowse it out.

At the gate, vans arrived from Hereford and quickly the Turkish heads were blown. The Duncans headed for the hills. The Cockneys went radio rental and found the nearest nuclear sub. The Hendricks held their own until the police charge. They were never into horses. The Leader was left isolated. He slid away on a 269 bus.

He had to change at Hammersmith. He would go back and find the farm.


Jack looked around at the chaotic scene and helped people to get home. He then went for the train. He needed to get back home.


The Leader walked up the track to the farm. The cows watched him as he went by.

‘Hi, I need a bed,’ said the Leader.

Mrs Hood showed him into the parlour.

‘I need to find mushroom in the wood,’ said Mrs Hood. ‘Please choose one of the rooms upstairs. I’ll be riding back once I’ve seen my Grandmother. She has a wee house by the corpse. She says she is in her bed.’

‘No worries. I’m bushed. I’ll take a nap.’


The leader trudged up the stairs and saw a large room with a large bed. He was going to sit on it until he was stunned. All around him was pictures of Tony Blair. He nearly puked.

He went down the corridor and found a smaller room. This too had bad vibes. Pictures of Oasis hung around him.

‘Maybe,’ he thought.


He worked his way to the tiny room at the back.

It was decorated with images of Brian Cox and pictures of the sky above.

‘Definitely. Whatever.’

He lay down and watched the clouds through the Velux window before falling asleep.


The taxi dropped Jack off at the crossroads. He walked up the drive and into the house.

‘Mum,’ he shouted. No one came.

He took his bag and went up the stairs and looked around his large room. He thought long to himself and tore the Blair pictures down.

‘Tory Plan B,’ he thought. He fell asleep


Running from the woods, John appeared at the front door.

‘Mum,’ he shouted. No one came.

He rushed up the stairs and saw his Wonderwall.

‘We only get what we settle for,’ he mumbled as he slipped away.


Across the grass came Jeremy. He saw no one in the house and went up to his room. The tiny room at the back. He looked at Brian. He looked up through the window at the darkening sky. He looked down at the bed.

‘An alien,’ he thought. ‘Well, bugger me.’


About Lindsay Craik

Writer & Poet Poetry, plays and short stories
This entry was posted in Story and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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