Captain Beckinthwaite’s Bride.

I’m Captain Thomas bloody Beckinthwaite, from bloody Yorkshire and I don’t give a bugger what you bloody think because I bloody speak as I bloody find.

We had a bloody bad trip back from America on Steamship and when we got back to Liverpool I made sure me brass were safe and went to see bloody Agent first thing.

I went in his office.It stunk like a Tarts boudoir with furnishings to match. Agent were a Slimy bastard with slicked down hair and poncy suit. He sat behind this over polished bloody oakwood bloody desk about the size of a bloody cricket wicket the useless bastard.

“Good day Captain, I am delighted to meet you at last,” he simpered wi’out standing up.

“No thee bloody ent,” I said, “Thee jus wants me brass,” I answered him, “I’m from bloody Yorksire and I speaks me bloody mind,” I explained to the ignorant Lancashire twat.

“Er, yes, the brass,” he said awkwardly.

“Ton and a half of it,” I said, “Dubloons, pieces of eight, that sort of brass.”

“We thought you meant Brass,” his assistant chipped in. She was like a short haired gorilla in a black dress with a gob like a bulldog chewing a wasp.

“Brass, Money,” I said, “Bloody simple enough even for you bloody ignorant Lanky buggers ent it?”

“Brass is an alloy of Copper and Tin,” she ventured.

“Clever bitch eh, need to be with a gob like yours,” I advised, “Ent going to get far wi your bloody looks and that’s a bloody fact..

“How much were you asking?” the slimy one asked.

I told him, showed him chit for it.

“Yes we will pay the asking price,” the slimy bastard said rooking me, “The cheque please Miss Rathbone.” and they give me it and it were done.

I nipped round bank and paid it in quick. Daft bastard on counter near fainted at size of cheque but I drew out a fair few quid and went about me business.

Fifteen bloody days voyage took, bloody steamship broke down on the way but at last I had some brass in bank and could come home instead of scratting round down South America way meking a bob or two here an there.

I went to see Harbour master what were a mate of mine, we had a chat for a few minutes then I asked “Where’s slave market, I fancies a nice plump fresh brown one.”

“By heck you been away a bloody while,” he said, “Thee casn’t have slaves in England any more.”

“You what?” I demanded.

“Nay,” He said, “They banned slave’ry back in thirty three and anyroad nobs got fed up wi novelty an let most of ‘em go free.”

“Bloody heck,” I said, “Where the bloody hell do I find a nice plump virgin for tonight?”

“Tonight, Thee’ll be bloody lucky to find one in Salford at all, thee’ll have to marry a nob lad!” he laughed.

I had a think. Go without, risk whore house or marry a nob. Marrying a nob seemed best idea.

I had a think and thought nobs hung out at Queens Hotel so that’s where I went, they had Dinner Menu outside. and it were just after noon so I thought I would have a bite to eat. Now I ent thick or nowt but I couldn’t make head or tail o menu so I thought I woud ask waiter. Turns out they has dinner at tea time and noon time was Luncheon. Anyroad I had a feed.

Manager come up to me and asked me business, “Looking for a nob to marry,” I said, “Posh bint like, got to be pure mind.”

He got wrong end of stick and suggested a couple of whore houses.

“Nay I want a woman for keeps see, If I pay out a fair bit and keeps her bloody chained up I have a nasset see, not keep forking out for tarts till I gets bloody clap and me cock rots off.”

“You can’t keep slaves anymore, but there’s a chap round Inkerman Street does a smashing range of chastity belts,” he suggested, “Actually, tween thee and me, that Lord wi his back to us over there’s got more daughters than you can shake a stick at, why not make him an offer?”

I looked, some poncy old codger talking to his mates over a sliver of fish and drop o wine that woudn’t sustain a bloody church mouse.

“That’s handy,” I said giving him a big tip and I sauntered across.

“I hear you got a couple of daughters to offload like?” I says straight out.

“And who the hell are you sir?” he snapped as he stood to face me, “Have you no decorum.”

“What’s bloody decorum,” I says, “I ent no house painter I’m bloody Captain bloody Beckinthwaite from bloody Yorkshire and I speaks me bloody mind.”

His poncy nob mates was pissing they selves laughing at me, “Look if its bloody brass you want I’ll pay top dollar, long as she’s virgin, two legs, two arms, couple of bloody tits, her own teeth, hearing and seeing would be a bonus but long as she can perform in bloody bed I ent that bloody fussed.”

“I say George,” one of his mates, a simpering prat dressed like a right ponce says, “You might well marry off your Emily if you play your cards right.”

“I ent playing no bloody cards,” I said, “Hard cash, I knows too many bloody card sharps.”

“I have never been so insulted sir,” he says, but his mate grabbed his arm.

“George, think, he’ll pay,” this chap said, “Instead of a demanding a dowry he’ll pay you, you know you need the wonga.

“Ah,” he said, “I understand you now, why not come to my house directly and meet my daughters?”

His poncy mate warned him not to seem too keen but as soon as I said I’d pay their tab he agreed.

The bloke lived a mile or so from hotel, so we hailed a cab.