Good news readers! I am currently working on an offical prequel to “Gone to the Dogs,” called “Thryke: The Man That Nobody Knew.” Here, amongst other things, I will post snippets and tasters to whip you all up into a slathering, purchasing frenzy. In this extract, Cornelius recalls a friend of his father’s – the heroic Reverend Biggleswade Smart.
“Dear Diary,
Well, my old friend, I read something rather sad in the newspaper today. I may well be coming to that age when I shall begin to peruse the obituaries with a greater air of dreadful expectation than I approach the columns of births and marriages. It is many years since I was announced in the first, and long since have I given up on the idea of being included in the second. The obituary column, however, seems to loom large and I search it for my name on an almost daily basis. If it does not appear, then I assume that I must go out for milk.
But today, today jarred me a little. Writ bold, with an obituary commensurate with his life, was the name Reverend Biggleswade Smart. Biggles was no ordinary parish priest and, the fact that he was firm friends with my father always struck me as strange and incongruous. Uncle Biggles, as he insisted that we call him lived a wonderful life, bursting with joy and colour. He kept a deep red motor racing car that he had careered around all of the best tracks, collecting arms of garlands and silver. On a Saturday he was always to be found, with the bonnet covers folded back, tinkering away with some wrench or tool. Father felt him to be frivolous. You could tell from the way he rolled his eyes at the giggles our fireside cocoa-stained stories. But I also think Father lived vicariously through the deeds and successes of his chum. Biggles, the champion motor racing vicar. Reverend Smart was also a fine opening bat and always scored well when he strode onto our square. Mother claimed that father had once petitioned the bishop to have Uncle Biggles banned, on account of his expertise with the willow. It was said that Biggles had a first-class batting average of nigh on sixty and that the England selectors had begged for his services on more than one occasion. I do not know if this is true, but I do know I once saw him smite a mighty six that span the weathervane atop of the church spire. Such was the larger than life character that was Biggleswade Smart. Lives are seldom lived that way in these modern times. Perhaps I should write a screenplay in remembrance of him. I would play him myself.”