PENNY FOR THE GUY (mmm/m)

[Xtc]

I've always wondered how much truth should be present in a 'fictional' story.
Certainly, British journalism seems to mix a lot of falsehood with very little truth.

Please entertain yourselves by deciding how much of this tale is true.

[Xtc]

PENNY FOR THE GUY

“OK, mate, looks like you’re it.”

“Why me?”

“You’re a scruffy little git.”

“Andrew’s scruffier’n me.”

“Yeah, but he’s tall.”

“And you’d fit in the wheelbarrow better.”

My ‘friends’ were obviously right, and there comes a time when a man has to do what a man has to do. I made a run for it.

-==000==-

Perhaps I’d better explain before continuing this story.

It takes place in the early 1960’s in England. Supermarkets (and, indeed, specially built shopping centres) were still somewhat of a novelty.

There was a tradition of ‘Penny for the Guy’ where youths would tour the neighbourhood with an effigy of Guy Fawkes and demand a penny for the guy from all those who saw it. The idea was to raise money to buy fireworks ready for November the 5th. That was Bonfire Night when said youths would build the largest fire they could and burn the effigies. (In the ‘seventies, as a student, I helped to haul a giant effigy through the streets of Winchester and up to the top of a great pile of wood, as the best guy, where it was immolated to much rejoicing.)

There were many other ‘begging’ traditions which seem to have lapsed, all except the corrupt American import that is Halloween.

Anyone who is interested in knowing why we demanded a Penny for the Guy should look up “Gunpowder Plot” on Wiki.

And now back to the plot.

-==000==-

“Grab him!”

“OK, I got ‘im.”
“Get off me!

“Come on, keep still, they won’t recognise you.”

“Yeah, so long as we let you wear a mask.” I probably ought to point out that, by then, commercialism had set into Guy Fawkes’s Night and several shops sold cheap papier mâché masks.

“Nah, cummon lads , it’s embarrassing.”

“All in favour.” All my ‘friends’ raised their hands.

“Thanks, lads.” Look, I knew I had drawn the short straw but we had the best pitch in town and, with no competition, we should have been able to mount the best back-garden firework display round Andrew’s place ever. However . . .

-==000==-

The new shopping centre had a ’Fine Fare’ supermarket where more and more people seemed to go for their weekly shop. So, that was the obvious pitch. All we needed was a Guy. That’s where you came in.

Do you know, they didn’t believe me when I promised that I would just lie peacefully in the wheelbarrow while they demanded tribute from passers-by? Trouble is that the bastards seemed to have planned well beforehand.

By the time Andrew had tied my hands behind me and Bobby has tied my ankles together, all resistance was useless. That didn’t mean I was fit to give in.

Gordon, being the heftiest of us, lifted me to my feet and Phillip wrapped a belt round my arms. It certainly wasn’t one of his, he was a skinny brat. OK. Long story short: There was no way I could resist and, at least I would get an equal share of the plunder.

Andrew wrapped one of Gordon’s old jackets round my shoulders and buttoned it up. That hid my bindings quite efficiently. There was then a certain amount of discussion concerning what they should do to my trousers. Perhaps I should not have offered my opinion at that stage. Let’s just say that they thought it would be a good idea if they didn’t have to listen to any more of my complaints.

Once David had tied a bulky knot in the middle of his Scout neckerchief, I knew that all was lost. Before long, the neighbourhood Guy was bound and gagged. The cheap mask even hid the fact that I was gagged. A lot of manky old straw was then stuffed between me and Andrew’s old jacket – and down my trousers - Thanks, lads.

I was carried into the wheelbarrow and our merry (mainly) party departed for the Kingslea Shopping Centre. Let’s face it: all the while I was on display, I was unlikely to try to escape. In any case, we had the best pitch in the town.

--====000000====--

A couple of traditional begging rhymes

Remember, remember, the fifth of November: Gunpowder Treason and Plot
I see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.


Guy, Guy, Guy, Guy,
Poke him in the eye,
Hang him from a lamp-post
And there let him die


Or, as we said at the time, “Penny for the Guy”.

[EzraMarubayashi]

Hmm, it's hard to say. I like to think that you served as a Guy Fawkes model indeed, though I guess it was even more voluntarily than it was depicted in the story

[Xtc]

Thank you [mention]EzraMarubayashi[/mention].
Any other opinions?

[MaxRoper]

Yeah, this has the ring of truth to it and of course our [mention]Xtc[/mention] wouldn't lie, so I'm'a say it happened much like it says here.
Except you left out the bit about how much you enjoyed it and didn't want it to end.

[Canuck100]

My guess is that the story is essentially true, but you were not the one that got tied up and might have been the instigator instead

[Xtc]

I see, @Maxroper, we might find out eventually.

Ah, [mention]Canuck100[/mention], you don't trust me.