Yorkshire pubs possess a humble arrogance which never ceases. "The Mad King" stood on a hill in the sticks toward the western side of "the promised land", which is what me and the chaps used to call our beloved county. It was our place. Whenever we ventured from our "clubhouse" we felt drained of spirit, and felt rejuvenated upon our return. The regulars were proud people, mostly stoic to their core, yet angered by anything remotely conservative. Each had an attitude of fierce pride for their northern roots, whilst adopting a notion that they were hard done by and as modest as a dog's dinner. Frank and Vera were dedicated, both in their late 70s, and sat in the same corner every night of the week. Frank looked like one of the rocks at Stonehenge, all the years of Chesterfields had not been kind him. When he spoke (which was rare) his words fired out, emulating the sound of a Kango drill. And as for Vera, she hated all men. One-eyed bob was another, a former coal miner who still had both his eyes. To this day no one had ever told me why they called him it, and in a strange way I'm glad of it. Sometimes there is a beauty in the unknown.
So, there we are, October 7th 1995, Saturday night around 8, "Come on Eileen" blaring on the old juke as me and the chaps are sipping our John Smiths, with a full house of regulars and a Liquorice all sorts atmosphere. There's me, Gaz, Dave, Karl and Ted, all barely 20. "Why aren't you with Cassie anymore Rich?" Ted asks me. "She feels better suited to Paul from the café, I say he's welcome to the bossy cow." Ted nods in a way which tells me he's understood every word and agrees with me unquestionably. Dave jitterily eyeballs each of us, "Lads, I've erm...got sumet to tell ya." None of us even blink and turn to him with the speed of dark. I'll be honest and say that none of us truly respected Dave. He was a quivering mess who liked to paint, and we only hung around with him as we'd known him for so long. "It's April, the thing is lads, well she's errr..." "Fucking hell Davey spit it out" says Gaz. We all turn in mild surprise as Gaz rarely spoke, he was action orientated and enjoyed silence. Dave starts to sweat slightly and his chubby cheeks go crimson. He begins to shake his head, as his inability to cough up his words cause him to reach into his jacket pocket and throw something on the table. Ted, who we all knew was the leader (though we'd never admit it, apart from Dave) picks it up. It's a square photo. Ted smiles and says, "I bet you went to the scan didn't you", to which Dave ashamedly nods. "You better start getting on to bigger things than working in that bookshop Dave, you need to be earning more bread." Karl glares at Ted, which all of us can see is making him feel uneasy. Karl starts "I need money, our foreman said our wedge is being cut almost by half." I'm looking at Karl as he says this, and there's something in the way he crinkles his forehead when he talks tells me that he's hardwired for violence. I decide to chime in "Same with me, it's getting tough down on the yard." Ted says "well", and then asserts a pregnant pause which feels like it lasts for a whole hour, "I suppose me and Gaz could use some more dough as well, eh Gaz?" Gaz turns his head slowly as if he hasn't been listening and nods towards Ted which you could tell pissed Ted off. Gaz was aloof and indifferent, which concurred he was the only one of us that didn't acknowledge Ted's sense of authority. Ted takes a Marlboro from behind his ear and lights it up slowly. "We could do something about this lads, it'll only take tonight". I look over at Gaz and he's listening, with his full attention being applied. I Find it endearing how Gaz has such Neolithic instincts, where self-gain is prioritized. Dave's nervous. Karl's frowning. I'm focused. The old juke begins to play an Al green song which I don't recognise. Ted continues with a sheepish grin "do you all know old Lawrence? The retired doctor with that big manor up the dales?" Ted assumes we do as he doesn't give us a chance to respond, "he doesn't trust the bank, so dad tells me, he keeps all his money in this huge basement." A few of us begin to scoff, but no one disbelieves Ted so much as to tell him he's talking bollocks. I say, "where did you hear that?", Teds eyes pierce mine as he responds "dad's a long-term patient, just casual small talk, he must really trust my dad." We all look at each other and there's a sense of stillness, which is unusual as Dave is normally always jittery. We all know that Ted is suggesting we rob the gaff, and there's an atmosphere of temptation that all of us can feel, the northern ale inhibiting our true desire. Ted says "We'll take your car Rich." He goes to the bar and returns with five pints a whisky chaser for each of us. "One for the road lads."
