I have been rebuked for the late infrequency of these blogs; rebuked, I am sad to say, by a foreigner neither born nor living in Yorkshire who can have little idea of the struggles that beset us here. It is a universally acknowledged fact that England consists of the county of Yorkshire together with a number of other historic shires which are ‘not Yorkshire’. It has recently come to my notice that there has been widespread concern in the county over the number of Yorkshire teenagers that have been seduced, mainly by internet websites, into travelling south to seek employment as bankers, ladies’ hairdressers, and social media managers. Equally worrying are retired folks moving to all parts in order to keep bees, run tea-rooms, or present items of our heritage on Antiques Roadshow. Firm steps have now been taken in the shape of ‘Yorkshire Rescue’.
Two rescue units have been established to operate from the White Rose county. One is for ordinary people, based in Bradford, and another for superior persons, operating from Harrogate. The units are primarily concerned in removing people from obscure parts of the country south of the Trent, or west of Offa’s Dyke, and transforming them back into hard- bitten northerners. Once notified flying squads will remove your loved ones from, let us say, London wine bars or sun-kissed Welsh beaches and immediately convey them by fast car via the M1 or M62. As soon as they cross the Yorkshire boundary reprogramming as a normal Yorkshire woman or man can commence.
The process involves the immediate administration of Black Sheep beer or Theakston’s Old Peculiar, if necessary by forcible intravenous infusion. At this preliminary stage the Harrogate unit is said to provide a dozen oysters and a lightly chilled chablis but we shall stick with what we know and love. The beer keeps the client happy until arrival in Bradford where any robes, fine clothing, or adornments of any kind, are removed and a cloth cap immediately provided. The client’s back is tattooed with an image of Skipton Castle by moonlight. Now dietary re-establishment can begin. This will start gently with Yorkshire pudding and onion gravy or the famous Yorkshire caviar (mushy peas). There is rapid progress to black pudding deep fried in beef fat. It is as well not to admit to being a non-meat eater at this stage since a confession of this type will only elicit the repeated comment: “th’art a vegetarian? Are thee ‘eck as like”.
The final test is to consume a brick collector’s breakfast. Two rashers of bacon are cooked in a frying pan. As soon as the bacon fat is liquid in the pan black pudding is added. When all is cooked a fried egg is also cooked and finally a tin of baked beans poured in. The whole collection, complete with the now rapidly solidifying fat, is sprinkled generously with Henderson’s Relish and consumed straight from the pan. Once such as meal is eaten and enjoyed the cure is well advanced indeed. I understand the unit once had problems with clients who endlessly repeated mantras or chants as a means of blocking the insertion of reality into their minds. This is now dealt with by playing “There’s trouble at t’mill; men are massin’ at t’gates” to the clients thousands of times each day. Once eating and drinking properly clients are made to watch Emmerdale Farm for 8 hours each day and watch Bradford Bulls playing rugby (league not union of course). The average conversion might last little more than a year.
Are you concerned over a friend, family member or loved one? Just ask me for the Yorkshire Rescue mobile number: ‘think on, be a reight gud sooart, tha knows it maks sense’.