That sort of reminds me of the time when I visited a pub in a little mining
village in Yorkshire. Standing at the end of the bar was the ugliest little man
I ever saw, his face
was mis-shapen, a mass of scars, and his ear was squashed flat.
He never bought a drink, yet he was never without a drink.
Every man who came to the bar would shake his hand or clap him on the shoulder
in a gesture almost worshipful, and then would buy him another beer. He never
thanked them.
Eventually, my curiousity grew so great that I had to ask the landlord, in a
whisper, why.
"Well" the landlord said, "that's Big John. He's a legend in this place. Hero of
the pit collapse in '98. Saved my life, and that of fifty men. He held the roof
up all alone,
until we all got out"
"Wow" said I, "So he got those scars from the roof collapse?"
"Nay, lad.
Them's from when we hammered him into place". |
