In One of the Withouts

Even Municipal Elections have their funny side, if you live in one of those Wards designated "Without". It means that you belong to the city, but are without all the City conveniences. The street lights have stopped before reach you, and the roads have deteriorated into mere cart tracks. 

The other night, an aspiring candidate called a meeting in our village hall. He was a good, worthy soul, but entirety without a sense of humour. - - such a pity? He missed all the fun.

 About thirty of us, householders turned up, mostly ‘elderly men of the type that have "Lived sixty years in this parish, and my father before me". As a newcomer, and the only woman present, I felt rather conspicuous, but, having dressed with great care to look like an intelligent voter "neat but not gaudy” - met with — approval of old men. 

"I'm glad to see a lady "ere", said one, rising painfully to his feet, "We ‘Likes to see the ladies interested in the welfare of the parish. There oughta be more ladies “ere” and he sat down reproachfully. 

The fun commenced when the candidate, after a long and painstaking speech, asked if anyone had any question to ask. He got more than he bargained for. One after another rose, and in a deliberate drawl told him of the state of the “lane against Bill Simon's place”, or the lack of light on “the road as runs by the Church", illustrating their remarks with detailed stories, and scraps of family history, turning to one and another for corroboration. Vainly he tried to cut them short, - -you can"t hurry our people. 

At last, when the hour was growing late, he rose and began; “If no one else wishes to speak...” but the oldest of all the grandfathers was getting to his feet. 

“There's one thing - wanter ask", he said and paused while one could count - ten. "When I was a boy - that's sixty, no getting on seventy years ago ~ eighty — I’ve lived in this parish. ‘That's a long time, it is." 

“Ar, that’s so” remarked his neighbour.

“I beat you, Joe"; put in another, with fatel result. The meeting waited ten minutes till it was established that Joe was the oldest inhabitant by three months. Brought back to the point, he went on:

 "Now, when I was a boy, the old men of ‘those days - -- there was old James  Rogers and old ‘Arry Twelvetreee  - your’ll remember ‘im, now?” and he and his contemporary engaged in a further discussion till the identity of ‘Old and young ‘Arry,  his son, had been settled.

 “Now, ‘they used to say to me "Joe! they said, that bitter land against the Post Office there - that better land belong parish. Now old Morton, him that owns the farm behind the Post Office, he say it belongs to his farm. What I wanter know is do it belong parish? and if it do belong parish,  why don"t we ‘ave it and make it into a Recreation Ground for the children?” 

The candidate who, like myself, is a comparative newcomer, was fairly stumped “Prompted by his chairman, he hinted that it might be hard to establish title after seventy years, but promised to look into the matter, and, at a sign from him, the pianist thankfully broke into the National Anthem, and drowned Joe’s further protest. As I left the hall, I heard him from the midst of an earnest circle: “Now, do it belong parish or do it belong. to him? If it. do belong parish--~-".