by The Preacherman
Uncle Cyril liked elevators. They were easier than stairs. Stairs meant adjusting his artificial leg to ‘climb’ or ‘descend’ mode.
It was all the sheep’s fault of course. Mind you, in fairness, the motorcycle and sidecar hadn’t helped.
Uncle Cyril was a poacher. He trapped rabbits and sold them to the local butcher.
“Any sheep?” asked the butcher one fateful day.
Uncle Cyril progressed from rabbits to sheep and from traps to motorcycle massacre.
He bounced across the moors and ran over sheep.
The deceased and slightly flattened sheep would be deposited in the motorcycles sidecar and taken to the butcher.
After several successful and profitable sheep runs the unfortunate day dawned.
The flock stood benignly chewing the cud as Cyril opened the gate to the field.
He hit a large ewe which, to Cyril’s surprise, continued to chew the cud.
The motorcycle and sidecar bounced off the ewe, tipped over and crushed Cyril’s leg.
An artificial leg was installed where Cyril’s leg had been.
Uncle Cyril’s artificial leg now rests with my father as it fell off at an inopportune moment as we buried my father. It slid into the grave and remains there to this day.
Uncle Cyril died tragically leaping onto a moving bus and landing on the leg he no longer had.
He rolled off the bus and was squashed.
Somewhat bizarrely the bus drivers surname was Ewe.
This is a true story.
Trust me I’m from Oldham……