Humphrey

By Tom Stallard

in 1648, parliament forces laid siege to colchester, england. legend has it, that a certain humphrey thompson, was shot off st. mary's church. he became a symbol of the final royalist defeat, culminating in the execution of Charles 1. the legend spread across europe.

I do suspect that "humpty dumpty" is so ingrained as a ‘kids story’, that people just dismiss it. ‘oh, that egg that fell off the wall. yeah, heard it all before!’ i was long tempted to outline the story, but better to expose the heart of the matter, thus. the challenge was to take a well known rhyme, and use it. ‘animal farm’ was in the back of my mind. the rhyme is only the anchor.

humphrey thompson falls and has a dream. he is symbolised as an elusive alien artefact. the jesters loose tongue starts a web of intrigue, reflecting how different people can, through rumour and gossip, think of the same elusive undefined object / idea, in different ways according to their preconceptions. how they use it, and compete with each other over it. the misunderstandings are amusing and frustrating, naive and tragic. ring a bell?

you can read in other factors - new world order, terrorism, hi-tech responses, sleight-of-hand diplomacy, romance and manipulation, greed, honest research, military aggressiveness, imbeciles as leaders, paranoia, double cross, imagined threats and grand deception to perpetrate a priveliged life style. And a thread of tongue-in-cheek frivolity, like the head on a beer!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tom Stallard
• Release date: Feb 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465961563

Tom Stallard

19 years in Spain. Sign writing and murals. Brief life story on - https://sites.google.com/site/signartsite/signstory

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Colchester. England. July 1648 A.D.

In 1645, the civil war between Charles 1, ( for his ‘Divine Right’ to rule without question ) - and Parliament, (tired of his excesses), was thought to be over, for they had influence over most of the cities.

But, in 1648, there was a rising of Royalist landowners and sympathisers in Kent. A small army under Sir George Lisle arrived at Mile End, East London.

After a confrontation, Parliament forces under Sir Thomas Fairfax, chased them into Colchester. Six hundred from both sides were killed at the Abbey entrance before the gate could be shut.

In the days that followed, forty huge cannons - culverins - were brought from the Tower of London to lay siege. And not without difficulty - it was one of the wettest summers in living memory. ( Tell us something new. ) The mainly Royalist Navy was prevented from delivering supplies. The city held out for seventy six days, and had to pay a fine of twenty thousand pounds sterling.

The Parliament supporters created a ballad mocking the defeated Royalists.

A certain Humphrey Thompson was supposedly shot off the highest point of the city, St. Mary’s Church. It symbolised the final Royalist defeat. The legend spread across Europe under various names -

Boule Boule in France. Thille Lille in Sweden. Lille Trille in Denmark. Hillerin Lillerine in Finland. Annebadad in Switzerland.

And in different parts of Germany as Trille Trolle,

Etje Papetje, Wirgele Wargele, Gigele Cagele, Runtzelken Puntzelken and Humpelken Pumpelken.

And in England as Humpty Dumpty

Chapter 1

POLLY PUT THE KETTLE ON.

Colchester city walls.

Thursday

Up on the battlements of Colchester, amidst the smoke and rain, there were crowds of Royalists, grim and determined, firing muskets and cannon on the Parliament troops surrounding them. The Pollies.

Where’s Thompson? By the Spirits! bellowed Sir George Lisle, the leading Royalist Cavalry Commander. Has he disappeared again? To the pub I wager!

Am looking Squire, looking! Sam answered. A ‘Jack the Lad’ from Essex. Gone lookin’ for a target methinks!

Take you to the roof of St. Mary’s. T’is the highest point of town.Your range will be increased. Blast that Pollie cannon by the kitchens. They’re getting too near my stables.

Sire!

Sam scrambled down the steps. Carts loaded with wicker baskets and bricks for defence, crowded the alleyways. Soldiers shouted. Horses slipped and nieghed. Weapons clattered. Dogs barked. The smash of cannonballs splintered the roofs. Screams as the tiles fell. The mud oozed across the cobblestones and settled in huge puddles. Rubbish littered the streets. Smoke choked and blinded. And the drizzle drizzled.

A grimmer sight I have yet to see! Sam looked about as he ran tip-toed through the mud and rubbish. Ours is but to do or die, and a tankard afore I go! He knew where Humphrey was, and squeezed into the damp crowd of the ‘King’s Head’, squelching wet.

Tucked away in the snug, Humphrey Thompson smashed the teaspoon on his boiled egg. He added a little pepper, then dug the spoon in.

Another day. Another crown he sighed. Ten left and Georgey tight with the purse.

He was a red faced gentleman with a patch over one eye. Wild blond - greyish hair slipping over his collar. He sported a drinkers red nose with mottled cheeks. His beer belly seemed to be held in by his red sash. A slightly humped back pushed out of the worn leather jacket made him look a little tubby. He kept glancing at a sketch map on the table. The walls of the town were marked, with the approximate positions and ranges of the parliament cannons.

Could THAT be their powder store? he muttered, tapping his finger on the crinkled map. Just out of range of course, but with a saker . . .

Humphrey! Been lookin’ for you everywhere! Humphrey’s one eye glittered as Sam pushed through the damp crowd.

Sam, what’s up?

Georgey wants us on top of St. Mary’s! He raised an arm Doris! A scrumpy cider by your leave, and a pint of ale for Humphrey!

I knew it! said Humphrey, Ever since I said a cannonball could do more damage than a horse or two, he’s had me all over the place. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men! Pollies getting too near his stables I wager?

Aye! Know him well then? Sam smiled. Humphrey started polishing his spyglass, like he was sitting around on a Sunday afternoon with nothing else to do. Never mind the world falling about his ears.

He is the leading Royalist cavalry commander. An Essex lad to be sure - rough and proud by nature. I have been with him since his horse was impaled on a spike at Marston Moor. We were captured by a Scots infantry brigade, then exchanged in ’44. We fought on till Oxford, where I lost my eye. He was second in command then, under Astley. We then surrendered to a force of cavalry from Gloucester under Sir William Brereton. He gave his word not to take up arms again, and is supposed to be on parole. The Pollies are none too pleased. A gentleman’s word and all that. He sipped his ale.

And will be the less if he do not watch his step. said Sam, Parading up on top there in his fine hat and coat. Sam swilled his cider as though it was his last on earth. In spite of the hasty brickwork called ‘Royal Fort’ on the highest part of town, With its ‘Fine defensive walls’ sez ‘e, we are still at the mercy of their cannons."

Throwing a twelve pounder. Humphrey nodded. They’re having a fine old time moving them in this mud. He sipped his ale and gazed at the ceiling. A saker is all we can manage up on the church roof. Six pound shot. He suddenly reached for the map. "Ah! We might be able to reach their powder shed now! He scribbled an equation on the edge of the map, then angles and figures.

CRASH! Another ball slammed into a cart right outside the door. The windows shattered. Glass everywhere. Horses reared up in fright and slipped on the cobbles. Shouts and screams as people pushed through the back exit. Humphrey stood up,

’Once more to the breach, dear friends’ as the saying goes. Sam, there is a saker in the guardhouse by the Abbey gate. See you there!

Chapter 2

ON THE ROOF OF ST MARY’S CHURCH

Thursday evening

Thompson! That damn cannon by the cookhouse! Sir George called up, squinting in the smokeyrain.

About a hundred yards I reckon. Humphrey shouted.

Got the saker fixed on the corner. Sam yelled. Swivels nice and easy. More ammo on the way. He would be as good a shot as Humphrey one day. His hero.

Big Oojy and Nifty puffed up the narrow stairs, dragging powder and shot on a wooden sledge.

Good time to catch ‘em Humphrey! Cookhouse is full. Sam grinned.A little of Merlin’s magic is needed! Grippy slapped his big leather gloves on, then winked at Sam.

Who’s Merlin then?

’Merlin’ Sam exclaimed, looking sideways at Humphrey, then laughed, A clever bloke to be sure, so I heard.

Merlin? Big Oojy piped up, grinning.

A famous magician who lived at the court of King Arthur. Didn’t you go to school? Drove the Vikings back with sorcery and magic. Humphrey smiled, My talisman. He squinted down the barrel, And now a little magic for the Pollies.

Grippy rammed the charge down the barrel. Humphrey glanced at the smoke around them, to see the wind direction. Then licked his finger to feel it. He snapped his spyglass open with a professional ‘Click’. The spyglass was well worth the crate of brandy he had traded. A beer bellied one-eyed hunchback he may be, but by Merlin, he could knock out anything he wanted to. He noted the angle of the barrel, considered the weight of the ball in his cuppped hand, and squinted into the drizzle at the Pollies, guaging the distance.

Up a bit. There, hold it. Sam tightened a screw.

Taper! Nifty leaned across.

Hands off! LIGHT! Humphrey shouted.

A cloud of white smoke puffed out. Sam patted out a spark on his doublet. Humphrey squinted through the spyglass. Nifty was already sponging, steam hissing, and prodding another charge down the barrel. Grippy followed with a ball, his big leather gloves wet and hissing with steam.

A little up and a little right. Humphrey muttered, still looking through his spyglass. Sam turned the screw a little.

Hands off! LIGHT! Humphrey shouted.

CRACK! Smoke plumed out. All eyes squinting into the drizzle.

Ah Ha! Right on the kitchen table! cried Nifty.

Pollies scatterin’. Laughed Big Oojy. The cook’s pot in the Pollie tent exploded in a shower of scalding water. Soldiers fell backwards, arms waving and shouting. Swirling steam and drizzle filled the tattered tent.

Polly put the kettle on! They jeered and whistled.

Good shooting Thompson! Sir George called up. Keep it up. We’ll give those cursed Pollies something to think about. ’New Model Army’, Pash! We are not finished with them yet. Not by a long chalk! He turned away. The stables Thompson!

Got a bag of nails for dessert! Grippy called and rammed the charge down the barrel. Nifty poked the bag in. Humphrey checked the angle.

Up a fraction - hands off! LIGHT! A flash and blinding smoke. The metal rain scattered in the sky.

Dinner down their shirts to be sure! they cried. Men along the battlements waved their hats and cheered. Humphrey smiled and peered towards the enemy powder dump checking the range. Georgey’s horses were not important at the moment.

Nifty. Any small grenades downstairs? Have a look-see. Just a few, quick!

They’re movin’ a Culvy round to bear on us! Grippy shouted from the other side of the church’s battlements.

In that mud? Good luck to ‘em!

Can they reach us here? Sir George called up. Humphrey quickly guessed the distance, wieght of the ball, maximum elevation of the cannon, and the breeze.

May just Sire, maybe just. But we have the height. I do suggest a shot at their powder dump Sire. Maybe we can reach it from here! A cannon ball splintered off a wall lower down. Everyone jumped.

They getting serious now. We’re too good for them! Nifty laughed. Got four grenades Humphrey. There are more. Then an arrow fell almost vertically from the wet and smokey sky and clattered on the roof. Four more sailed past to the left and right.

Robin Hood’s back! Big Oojy bellowed.

Let’s try for the powder shed whilst we have time! Sam, the grenades!

A twelve pound ball slammed into the crenels not three yards away - and not from the direction they were expecting it.. Splinters of metal and stone hit all of the them. Humphrey felt needles of pain in his legs. He yelled and crumpled backwards over the edge of the battlements. His hands frantically grabbed a gargoyle’s head on the way. For a few seconds he hung like a bloody ham, and stared into the blank stone eyes. Sam’s face appeared above. A red bloody arm reached out, fingers spread.

HUMPHREY!

Too late. Humphrey’s hands slipped on the wet green moss of the gargoyle, and he dropped with a loud groan to the graveyard far below. Sam thought he cried Meeee -r - lin! There was a jolt as his legs hit a gravestone. His face splashed into the mud. His body crumpled on the wet grass.

Chapter 3

HUMPHREY’S DREAM.

Thursday night

He saw a pinprick of light in the blackness. Then stars zipping past. Awesome it was. He felt lighter than an autumn leaf sailing on a breeze. Like ice turning to water and spreading out forever. Was he dead? He could not feel his heart beating. It did not seem to matter.

A new world was forming and becoming clearer, as if coming out of a mist. As the sky glowed, he seemed to fly over green childhood countryside and playful forests. Far ahead, snow capped mountains glowed in the night like neon.

A small city appeared below, within a castle wall. There was a palace and courtyards and huddles of cottages and twinkling lights.

There was a window blazing light, at the top of a tall tower.

NILREM,

Court magician to King Charles 1 of Chesterland City.

He was at the top of a tall ladder in his den, surrounded by rare and priceless manuscripts that no one had ever seen. They spilt out of ancient chests all curly whirly. Bric a brac was littered about. A stuffed dragon peered down with eyes aflame.

He was searching for a particular magic spell. His long sensitive fingers held up a faded parchment. No, This is not it, he put it down, then looked again.

What is this? ‘Folk Ballads of England, 17c.’ There was a woodcut print of a very fat person, in clothes similar to the fashion of to-day. He lay on the ground beneath a church wall with a sad face, and holding a small cannon. Soldiers on horses surrounded him.

His legs are bleeding! He frowned and raised his arm. Did the King’s men push him off I wonder, or was he shot? He smiled. Then flung his arm out and read the rhyme out loud, as if he were opening a magic drama show for the King.

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

All the King’s horses,

and all the King’s men,

Could not put Humpty together again!"

He peeled off another sheet stuck to the back.

There is a sequel too!

"But Humpty Dumpty had a surprise

He flew up to the sky disguised.

He later came on Carnival night.

A magic show for your delight."

Nilrem lay the sheets aside and chuckled.

"No. Perhaps that would not go down too well in front of Sir George, Captain of the King’s guard, Blah Blah. Now where is that manuscript I am looking for? It is about time the Jester tidied up. I must find a beautiful new magic trick ready for Helen’s engagement.

The Jester is listening at the keyhole.

Just then, Humphrey’s deeply dreaming unconcious mind, adopting the form and appearance of a bright comet, flashed across the night sky. It brightened the attic like daytime. Nilrem jumped and lost his footing. He scrabbled for a finger hold, but his hands slid across the smooth papers, and he slipped down the ladder in a heap. Books cascaded before him, softening his fall. And some after him, bouncing on his head. Manuscripts sailed down liker autumn leaves. He staggered to the window, in time to see the comet slowly trailing towards the mountains of the north, the Dark Peaks.

Wonderful! Wonderful! Such beautiful colours! He rubbed his head and gasped at the long sparkling trail. He muttered a quick spell, and flew through the window in pursuit. Helen could wait. She was always changing her mind at the last minute.

Sharp winds spun from the crests of the Dark Peaks. Bats of breeze flicked from nowhere to nowhere, rummaging through the forests and rippling the skin of the silver pools. The roar of the waterfalls crashed past the razor blades of sloping ice. High overhead the twin moons were racing through the silver clouds, as if to race the wind.

The comet flared like magnesium as Nilrem raced after it. Offshoots fizzed away like an exploding firework. Nilrem chased after the brightest spot, now dwindling in size and brightness. Landing on the ground before it, he waited only seconds before he caught the small bright piece in his open cloak. He looked down amazed. It seemed like a transparent ping pong ball, dazzling bright - and did not burn a hole in his cloak!

In his tower, Nilrem found a magnifying glass and his home made sunglasses. There were tiny sparkling points of light within its miniture depths. He gasped.

It is pure magic! From the vastness of space! From another world! From the stars . . .!

From INSIDE the glowing sphere,

Humphrey is seeing a magician before him.

And that is all he can do - see.

Like a baby in a cradle, he gazed out at a new world.

There were two big eyes peering at him.

We will have to leave Humphrey and Nilrem for a couple of days, ( until Sunday ), whilst others

come into play. It has to be thus, or we shall get all mixed up. (Say no more.)

Chapter 4

TITTLE TATTLE

Thursday midnight.

The Jester, his ear to the keyhole, had heard Nilrem reciting the rhyme. Then he jumped back, stunned by Nilrem’s fall and the clatter of books. He was just about to knock on the door to see if he could help, then decided not. He would be tidying up for the rest of the night, and he wanted to go to the Kings Head for his card game. He tip toed down the passage on his way out to the courtyard.

There was a cry of Polly Dotts from the battlements. The Jester stopped. The Sergeant called up.

Where?

Bright shooting light in the sky, Sarge!

Where? Where?

Gone towards the Dark Peaks! The Sergeant hesitated. Sound the alarm? If it has gone, then not worth the trouble of alerting the King’s Guard - again! And having to write a report before the 'Soldiers Fortune' closed..

Wait a few minutes! If nothing else happens, then forget it!

Yes Sarge!

I mean FORGET IT!"

YES Sarge!

Polly Dotts! The Jester rolled his eyes. Then he had a change of heart. Nilrem might be hurt. He came back and banged on the door. No answer. Maybe he was unconcious. He opened the door and peered in. He was not there!

What tricks is he up to now? he muttered. A ‘Humpty Dumpty’ falling off the castle wall? The King’s men pushed him off? When was that? He headed down the steps. I could use that for Trash! he mused.

The Jester’s gossip in the Kings Head, and Trash passing the information to CINFO, see soon, now

lays the foundation for ALL the following misunderstandings.

He leaped into the ‘King’s Head’ Ale House, his bells tinkling. No one paid him any attention. He immediatly espied Trash in the corner, dressed in black with a pint of stout before her. The locals knew who she was - CINFO’s eyes on the ground, but they never bothered her. They might send a real busybody instead.

A wind-up for her. just for fun! he smiled. Then settled himself into the card game, whispering loudly.