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Jewish Lightning- a unique Merthyr phenomenon

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Jewish Lightning- a unique Merthyr phenomenon  Empty Jewish Lightning- a unique Merthyr phenomenon

Post  Boz1964 Fri Apr 10, 2020 1:50 am


Jewish Lightning

As he moved his calloused hands up to the next metal hold , Rhodri Moses inched his way up the telegraph pole.

With the rain driving hard into his face and the leaves swirling around him violently, Rhodri felt as scared as he had ever been in his life.

He tried to battle on , in the fake belief that lightning didn’t strike twice.

In the forty years that he had been with British Telecom and the old GPO, he had tried hard to climb the ladder, but had never had much success.

The tail end of Hurricane Nick had hit Wales and he was trying vainly to restore the telephone wires high on the Brecon Beacons above Libanus.

His boss knew damn well, that he had an important concert tonight and had sent him of all people, out on this fateful afternoon so their working relationship would be put back on the ‘right lines’.

Rhodri had more faith in a Liberal/Conservative coalition’ than he did his boss...he felt he had a hidden agenda and wanted to see him miss his golden chance to win the Choir ‘Sing if your Winning’ competition scheduled for tonight.

As he shinned his way slowly up the pole, he noticed the number 666 written in metal on the side but tried to ignore the bad omen.

Strange,-but he hadn’t noticed this particular pole before- and he had passed this way many times in the past.

The safety harness ‘loaned’ to him for this job was way too big for this job.

The normal engineer Carl ‘Fatty’ Santos had ring in sick this morning with splinters in his thighs , where he had slid down a pole in Cefn Coed during a tea-break that went wrong.
The Doctors note said he had developed ‘dry rot in his ball sack’ .

Rhodri thought it was a load of old bollocks.

Santos was always going off where there was a storm brewing.

Lightning did strike twice in that particular case.

In fact Rhodri had been struck by lightning on twelve separate occasions and four of them were when he was covering for ‘the Saint’ .

Rhodri was the department record holder and needed only one more unlucky strike to make the Guinness Book of Records too!

It was somewhat ironic, that he was also in charge of the music score for his local choir.

His fast moving ‘allegro’ and ‘vibrato’ style of play meant he had earned the ‘nick’name.... ‘Lightning Rod’ .

The conductor was head of a combined British Telecom /General Post Office musical group made entirely up from postmen and telephone engineers.

It was called the Dowlais ‘Mail’ Voice choir and always promised a First Class delivery.

As the wind whistled below his khaki coloured GPO issue shorts, he reached the summit of the pole looking down some 60 feet to the ground.

He was surprised to hear a red phone at the top of the pole, ringing shrilly above the howling wind and stinging sheets of rain.

As he picked up the receiver, he suddenly became aware of another presence close by.

Looking down at the ground, he could make out the figure of an old man, all bent and crooked holding a stick to support his frail body using a red mobile phone.

The voice spoke very clearly and was very charming.

“ This pole belongs to me...I own it!....and you are trespassing” said the voice waving a piece of paper about.

Rhod could see that this pole had in fact been around for a long time and was buried far deeper into the ground than the rest of the poles making up the line.

Rhod assumed that the paper was a Way-leave Agreement with the Land Owner and that he erroneously assumed that the farmer wanted to show who was Boss that the pole was his and was just pointing this fact out to him.

“ I am Nicholas Memistocles- the soul proprietor!” he announced to the engineer who was not concentrating as he was trying desperately to keep his balance in the dreadful conditions and the dodgy safety harness.

With a gigantic crash and sudden flash....a plague of frogs crashed down from the sky above....followed by locusts.... and more sheet lightning.

Bloody Brecon farmers....I better go down and see him thought Rhodri or I’ll never get out to that concert tonight.

As he reached the old man ,he was babbling away talking in a tongue Rhodri didn’t understand.

He assumed it was Welsh or Breknockspeak.

As he reached the bottom of the pole, Rhodri felt a searing pain in his rear end sending him back up three feet in his harness.

“ Sign this!” said the strange looking farmer red pitchfork in hand.

Rhodri assumed it was an access agreement....he didn’t care he was working for BT...it was their problem....as he signed the paper it seemed to glow eerily in the half light.

No sooner than he had signed it than the old farmer disappeared without trace.

Odd he thought but started back up the pole like the ‘Lightening Rhod’ he was.

He was quick ...but not as quick as that old farmer ...there was no sign of him ...only two cloven hoof prints in the mud where he was standing...and at the top of the pole he could see for miles.

His bum too was hurting him.

It felt on fire...he was sure that old farmer must have jabbed him in the tailpipe with his pitchfork as he slid down the pole.

His thoughts turned to the concert tonight and with the weather strangely improving instantly, so did his mood.


As he sat on the windowsill outside the empty R& M ‘s nightclub on Bethesda Street, he kicked his heels nervously.

He wondered then if he had done the right thing, having that curry from the Balti Walla earlier.

He tried vainly to keep his butt cheeks together...he had learned from experience never to trust a fart over the age of forty.

Unfortunately, he let out what he considered to be a squeak and a flame shot out of his arse crack like a welder’s blowtorch and ignited the building ‘behind’ him.

The place was like a tinderbox and the blaze quickly became an ‘inferno’ as fire engulfed the building turning it into the ‘hottest’ spot in town.

Rhodri Moses tried to hide in the Japanese knotweed ‘rushes’ on the nearby banking before sidling away , whistling(orally this time) innocently in the same way that a nappy-less toddler tries to distance himself from a stool on a living room carpet.

Like previous nightclubs in Merthyr, Charboniers and Baverstocks which had burned down in strange circumstances, he had a feeling that this was to be a ‘Phoenix Night’.

Rhodri Moses’ inadvertent ‘Jewish Lightening’ had him worried he would be charged and found guilty of Arse-On.

As the fire brigade put down their knitting at the Dynevor Street HQ, the men ran for the poles , forgetting that they had been banned by Health & Safety rules in doing so falling through the holes in the floor.

Rushing to their state of the art ‘Green Goddesses’, they headed towards the fiery ex-nightclub 200 yards away from HQ in a new record of 1 hour ten minutes.

Luckily for him, Rhodri had crossed the road to the safety of Abermorlais Terrace, baked on pants chaffing as he went.

As the brave fire-fighters aimed their hoses at the fire- ravaged building, Rhodri was a witness to the last ever foam party at the club.

Rhodri was grateful he would not to answer any embarrassing questions as his lift finally turned up.

Baritone Cliff Ratjack turned up in his tuxedo and Chelsea tractor.

He was ‘accompanied’ by his ‘noble’ friend Soprano Justin Lake-timber.

The pair were both ‘linesmen’ and experienced ‘pole dancers’ not in the football or clubbing sense but were part of the BT ‘Busby’ Babes team.

They were part of a crack musical ensemble which formed the heart of the choir.

They were determined to wrestle the crown away from the Combined Merthyr Schools Orpheus Choir at the Morlais Castle Golf Club and be selected as the winners by the judges tonight.

Lord Diabetes himself was to decide the competition, to determine who would represent Merthyr , Wales and the United Utilities at the Grand Slam Rugby decider between Italy & Wales in Cardiff.

A once-in a lifetime chance to take to the pitch and sign before a capacity crowd of passionate Welsh rugby fans.

“ Have you got a match?” asked Justin to Rhodri in a soprano voice.

“ My face... your arse....that’s a match !” said Cliff looking in the rear view mirror at his friend who was desperately trying to get a light for his Cuban cigar

Rhodri knew he didn’t smoke or carry a lighter but still patted his pockets anyway.

Suddenly, for no apparent reason , Rhodri raised his index finger up to the cigar which instantly caught fire.

Both driver and rear passenger looked at one another nervously, as they realised Rhod’s finger was still alight.

“ Bloody Hell Rhodri....I know you are a ‘lightening conductor’ but how the ‘Hell’ did you do that?”

Regaining his composure , he put out his digit in the drinks dispenser of the BMW jeep and replied weakly.

“ Neat party trick huh....when your hot ...your hot!” he replied trying to ‘brazen’ it off.

The car went silent, as they made their way up the windy narrow track to the Golf Club.

Outside the club it looked like a scene from a David Attenborough wildlife documentary as ‘scores’ of men stood around dressed like penguins laughing and limbering up their vocal chords in anticipation.

The trio were greeted by a chorus of laughter from the opposition choir.

No wonder Justin was a soprano, he was wearing his West Ham Julian Dicks ‘Dickie’ bow in the wrong place.

Sir Alan was already there, taking centre stage surrounded by a series of ‘apprentices’ who were sycophantically fawning around him.

Already there was the rival Jewish conductor, Hammond Stradivarious, trying to gain some ‘Brownie’ (nose) points from the former Tottenham Hotspur Chairman by telling him he looked much older on television but much younger in real life.

Rhodri had hated Ham for years, not just because he was a vegetarian but mainly because he had used his Masonic contacts to get that job with the local school as the music teacher taking violins and cellos around the Glamorgan area.

Rhodri never referred to his rival by his real name...he only ever referred to him as the Kiddie-Fiddler....mainly because he was the first Jew to enter the Catholic Church as a priest....before returning to teaching ‘On Mass’.

As soon as they saw each other they reacted by making hand gestures to each other causing Rhodri to drop his music sheets onto the floor in front of the Judges.

Rhodri like most of the choirboys in the Parish hated being ‘Ham-fisted’

Cliff picked up the music sheets and the copy ‘access agreement’paper that Rhodri had unwittingly signed with the farmer earlier today.

The musical rivals stared at each other ....lie the rival gangs from West Side Story ,neither conductor dropping their gaze for an instant, until the impasse was broken by the pounding fist of Sir Alan demanding the ‘prom’pt start of the competition.

Cliff picked up the access agreement and realised very quickly that poor old Rhodri hadn’t sold the telegraph pole to the old devil, but he had in fact sold his R-Soul to him.

Cliff didn’t want to prejudice their chances of winning the competition and assumed that having the Devil on his side might actually be an advantage.

The Orpheus Choir started first and the ensembled few quickly realised that their maestro had like the odd Welsh rugby player –pulled a flanker to get to the Millenium Stadium.

They had adapted the lyrics of the Welsh song to Calon Lan to Calon Alan to sweeten the ear of the receiving judge.

This rendition was received and taken to heart.

The die was already cast.

Both Rhodri and Cliff were certain, that no matter how their ‘demonic’ choirboys sang their version of Delilah –they would always be second to Tom Jones.

Rhodri knew in his blackened heart, that they were at a mani’Faust’ disadvantage...the feeling that Welsh Language singers, who spoke the ‘lingo’ would be given preference...like everything in Wales.

It was un’canu’.

After thirty seconds of deliberation with his golf club sponsors the brothers Bush, Sir Alan announced the winner of this final ‘Heat’.

Rhod the conductor had his back to the judges facing his choir , in anticipation of defeat.

The song adaptation had proved too much of a sweetener for Lord Diabetes.

“I must say in a close contest that I have decided West is Best and that ....Am Strad is hired!”

Before he could finish his intended sentence the Sorceror’s apprentice , Lighting Conductor Rhodri Moses bent over and then sent a demonic thunderbolt direct from his arse setting the tycoon’s beard and other facial hair alight quicker than a Michael Jackson video for Pepsi.

Another Moses witnessed a burning Bush set alight by Jewish Lightning.

“ No ....Sir Alan....said Rhodri ..... this time... it’s you that’s Fired !”
Boz1964
Boz1964

Posts : 2398
Join date : 2012-10-08

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