Okay, the title sounds like something gruesome but on the contrary I’m hoping the true story I’m about to relate will bring a smile or two or even a chuckle. It’s not a blog as such and it’s not even my story but I have been given permission to tell it. This time it’s not about my friend Faye but it is about her sister and family.
On with the story. It all happened sometime in the 1960’s in a country town here in South Australia. Faye’s sister Jean was married to John, a very quiet and unassuming man. Next door to them lived a very noisy rooster – it crowed all day and it crowed all night. One afternoon when John was out at work it all got too much for Jean but she didn’t want to cause any upsets with the neighbour by complaining. So instead she got a couple of her son’s friends to go the long way round to the neighbour’s house and ask if they could buy the rooster without the neighbour knowing that it was Jean who wanted to buy it.
The money offered was a big enough temptation for the woman to sell the offending fowl and the transaction was carried out accordingly.
The rooster was taken for a ride in Jean’s car along with a sack and an axe and the execution was carried out efficiently and in quick time, so fast that it didn’t know what was happening and (hopefully) it didn’t have time to feel any pain. The headless rooster was put in the sack and together with the axe deposited in the boot of the car. Of course, because it had not been ‘bloodied’ there was a lot of the red stuff in the boot as well. On the way home Jean stopped at a friend’s house, a lady who took in boarders, and presented her with the rooster which she said would make a good meal. It was gratefully received. Job done – peace reigned.
Later that day John arrived home from work – it was Friday night and this was his club night so he called out that he was home but was going off to the club. Because Jean’s car was the last one in the drive he took this. As I have already written, John was a very quiet man and he did not usually drink much but that night he met up with some mates he hadn’t seen for a while and drank more than he was used to.
Very inebriated he got in the car and drove home – no one bothered about breathalysers in those days and certainly not in that country town. In the morning he was feeling very hungover and needed some fresh air, he staggered out to the car which wasn’t parked very well, and for some reason opened the boot. There in the boot and in front of his eyes was an axe and blood, blood and more blood, blood everywhere. ‘Oh, my God! What have I done, what happened last night, so much blood what did I do’ – all these thoughts went through his mind. His imagination ran riot. Normally he wouldn’t have hurt a fly but the evidence was there that he must have done harm to someone. He dared not tell anyone. He couldn’t remember even driving home, let alone the events of the evening. It was a Saturday so he didn’t have to go to work but he spent the day waiting for the police to come and cart him off to jail. His mind was in a turmoil.
He was even quieter than usual, had a very worried look about him, and in the end Jean asked him what the heck was wrong with him and if it was because he was hungover it was his own fault because he had been so drunk when he got home that he had taken himself straight off to bed, and just look at the way he had parked the car. He sat down and put his hands to his head. Jean by this time was very concerned – and then he blurted out that he didn’t know what he had done, all he knew was that there was an axe and a lot of blood in the boot of the car, and that he must have done something dreadful.
He wondered why Jean ended up in hysterics until she told him what had happened. Poor John, he didn’t think it was at all funny…..and to cap it off, Jean’s friend, the recipient of the dead rooster, came round to say that none of the boarders had been able to eat it as it had been as tough as old boots.
On with the story. It all happened sometime in the 1960’s in a country town here in South Australia. Faye’s sister Jean was married to John, a very quiet and unassuming man. Next door to them lived a very noisy rooster – it crowed all day and it crowed all night. One afternoon when John was out at work it all got too much for Jean but she didn’t want to cause any upsets with the neighbour by complaining. So instead she got a couple of her son’s friends to go the long way round to the neighbour’s house and ask if they could buy the rooster without the neighbour knowing that it was Jean who wanted to buy it.
The money offered was a big enough temptation for the woman to sell the offending fowl and the transaction was carried out accordingly.
The rooster was taken for a ride in Jean’s car along with a sack and an axe and the execution was carried out efficiently and in quick time, so fast that it didn’t know what was happening and (hopefully) it didn’t have time to feel any pain. The headless rooster was put in the sack and together with the axe deposited in the boot of the car. Of course, because it had not been ‘bloodied’ there was a lot of the red stuff in the boot as well. On the way home Jean stopped at a friend’s house, a lady who took in boarders, and presented her with the rooster which she said would make a good meal. It was gratefully received. Job done – peace reigned.
Later that day John arrived home from work – it was Friday night and this was his club night so he called out that he was home but was going off to the club. Because Jean’s car was the last one in the drive he took this. As I have already written, John was a very quiet man and he did not usually drink much but that night he met up with some mates he hadn’t seen for a while and drank more than he was used to.
Very inebriated he got in the car and drove home – no one bothered about breathalysers in those days and certainly not in that country town. In the morning he was feeling very hungover and needed some fresh air, he staggered out to the car which wasn’t parked very well, and for some reason opened the boot. There in the boot and in front of his eyes was an axe and blood, blood and more blood, blood everywhere. ‘Oh, my God! What have I done, what happened last night, so much blood what did I do’ – all these thoughts went through his mind. His imagination ran riot. Normally he wouldn’t have hurt a fly but the evidence was there that he must have done harm to someone. He dared not tell anyone. He couldn’t remember even driving home, let alone the events of the evening. It was a Saturday so he didn’t have to go to work but he spent the day waiting for the police to come and cart him off to jail. His mind was in a turmoil.
He was even quieter than usual, had a very worried look about him, and in the end Jean asked him what the heck was wrong with him and if it was because he was hungover it was his own fault because he had been so drunk when he got home that he had taken himself straight off to bed, and just look at the way he had parked the car. He sat down and put his hands to his head. Jean by this time was very concerned – and then he blurted out that he didn’t know what he had done, all he knew was that there was an axe and a lot of blood in the boot of the car, and that he must have done something dreadful.
He wondered why Jean ended up in hysterics until she told him what had happened. Poor John, he didn’t think it was at all funny…..and to cap it off, Jean’s friend, the recipient of the dead rooster, came round to say that none of the boarders had been able to eat it as it had been as tough as old boots.
