Tranford Tales - Bob

CHAPTER 1

Just a little story for people who know about Tranford and Freddy.

It may be hard for most people to understand, but sex was never an important issue for me, and I've been happy without it. As a teenager I went out with a couple of girls with the supposed aim of getting them to bed, but only because it was expected of me. I don't know what I'd have done if they had actually offered.

Eventually Mum and Dad accepted that I wasn't gay, but wasn't sufficiently motivated to get a girl. And I was happy enough without. Really. I had an interesting life with friends of both sexes, and didn't feel lonely in any way. I was sorry for Mum especially that there would be no wedding and no grandchildren, but she accepted that was just the way I was.

What has actually given me the greatest satisfaction is charity work. I ended up spending most of my spare time on it. When Mum and Dad had both died, I used some of the rooms as storage for two charities.

That was why I eventually changed my car for a minibus and used it for various voluntary activities. I really felt good that I was helping people and in turn they showed their appreciation which was nice. So much of my spare time was with people who were happy to see me.

I covered the running costs, and the charity usually covered the fuel, though not always.

One of the things I did was to take groups of pensioners out on trips. One day a guy called Freddy suggested we should go to a pub called the Tranford Arms. I was a bit hesitant, since there was a perfectly decent pub nearby, but he said he used to go there with his wife Betty, and I knew how he missed her. Some of the others said it had been a really nice country pub a convenient cycle ride away, and two of the staff from the local pub, Alf and Ginger had opened it up after it had been closed for more than ten years.

I took a busload of men (no women were interested) there one day, and it turned out to be really good. No loud music, good traditional food and a nice atmosphere. It was all that was left of a little village which had now been replaced with a modern estate. The unusual thing was that a fair number of the residents were transgender, or at least dressing as the opposite sex. I'd come across a fair number of gay people in my charity work, so I wasn't fazed, but I was surprised how well my old guys got on with them. I guess the good beer and the old-fashioned atmosphere overcame any reservations, and we made it a weekly trip. I didn't drink, of course, but the home-cooked food was appreciated.

Then Covid happened.

A lot of the social charity activities had to stop, but there were still jobs for me to do delivering food and necessities (including toilet paper!) to people trapped at home, so I was busy. I tried to be careful, but somehow I caught it, and had a bad few weeks, though fortunately not as bad as some.

Of course, the old folks get-togethers stopped, and pubs closed down, so I didn't see my pensioners for a long time.

Old people living alone can often be unwilling to admit they aren't managing, and get quite cantankerous if you try to help. Many of them don't want to depend on charity. It was difficult because their relatives were not supposed to visit. Nevertheless, I tried to call round to what I called my Tranford group, just from the doorstep, with a mask to check if they needed anything, such as a bit of shopping. One of the most difficult ones was Freddy, so I knew what I was letting myself in for when I knocked on his door. He was a fanatical Lanky, unreasonably proud of his county of Lancashire, and always getting at me for having been born in Yorkshire, as if I had done it deliberately to annoy him.

"I don't want nothing from you!" was his greeting.

"I can manage by meself, ta very much! I don't need your charity!"

"Nice to see you again, Freddy," I told him.

"So you won't be wanting this Lancashire hotpot that Ginger made specially, nor these cans of Manchester Bitter that Alf sent you?"

"Yer what? Oh, if it's from Ginger, that's all right. I wouldn't want to offend her. And thank Alf too."

"There's something else they want to discuss with you," I told him and handed him a note.

"This is their phone number. They thought you might like to move in permanently when Covid is over. Then you can have Ginger's cooking every day, and the rent would help them. I might even move in myself when I retire in a few years."

He was obviously stunned.

"Sorry, Bob. I know you mean well, but I'm a bit stir crazy. I can talk with my kids on this Skype thing, but I miss being around people, even you."

"Yes, but mind your manners in future," I told him. "Supposing I'd just walked away. What would people in Tranford think of you?"

He hung his head.

"Sorry again. I know you're a pal, and you do lots of good work. I'd love it if you moved into the Tranford Arms, if I'm still around then."

We then sort of grunted things like 'see you' and 'take care', and I went on to my next call.

I was a bit shaken myself. At his age, he might well not be around when I retired. I just hoped he could manage the dream of living in a pub.

CHAPTER 2

Little thanks to the politicians, but eventually we were getting on top of Covid. However, many companies were in trouble and laying off staff. Mine was no exception so I agreed to take early retirement. Both Freddy and I had had our fourth jabs, so I went round to tell him the plan.

The Tranford Arms was open for business, though it was still rather light, and we would move in at the same time. His kids would deal with his house, taking their inheritance early, you might say. (Once I had removed all evidence of Betty's sideline as a dominatrix.)

I made an arrangement with a housing association to let mine. They would manage the property, and I would get some income. When I died, it would be left to them, and anything else would go to the charities I supported.

As I had some cash from my pension fund, I gave Alf and Ginger a year's rent in advance, and also loaned them a bit, not being worried if I never got it back.

There was a single room and a double room in the pub, and of course we had an argument. I had slept in a single bed all my life, so was happy to continue. Freddy said I should have a double in case I got lucky, but I knew he was used to a double, and also needed a bit more room for pictures of his wife, kids and grandkids, so I persuaded him. We also had some of our stuff in a store room, and the use of the public rooms, of course, and the private rooms for functions, so we weren't cramped.

There was a toilet and shower we shared, so after we'd gone to bed we met on the landing and I saw a smile come to his face.

"It's a nightshirt!" I told him, "So no snarky remarks. It's just comfortable. And if it was a nightdress that would be all right in Tranford. Remember where you are!"

"Not saying anything," he said with an innocent smile and started singing a song about 'Grandad's flannelette nightshirt'. He was still singing when I came out. I should have known what was coming up, but fell for it.

"What's that all about?" I asked.

"Just a bit of culture you might have missed. George Formby, Lancashire lad of course."

"What, that banjo-playing monkey with the smutty songs? You can't call that culture!"

"I'll forgive yer ignorance," he said, grandly, "Only he didn't play the banjo but the ukulele and the banjolele. The Queen Mother liked him, so he topped the bill in two Royal Variety Performances."

"You're going to tell me she was a Lancashire Lass?"

"No, a Scot, but a proper lady with good taste, and she taught her daughter, the Queen, all the songs.

I didn't say anything, but he had one more thing to say, and I knew what it was going to be.

"You say the Queen, of course, but we say the Duke of Lancaster!"

(This is true. Queen Elizabeth was the Duke of Lancaster - not the Duchess. The sovereign holds title.)

His continual sniping at Yorkshire does get annoying, so I was pretty cool with him for a while.

His old pals started coming for a drink, so he didn't really need me, and I was busy with my charity work, so we scarcely said a word.

Then one night, I saw the light still under his bedroom door, and a sound like talking.

He was lying on one half of the bed with a nightdress on the other, I guess as he had done for so long with Betty.

"Sorry, but it's a strange bed and I can't get to sleep."

Somehow, I knew what to do.

I went round the bed, and got in.

"Ere, whatcha doing?"

"Coming to bed," I said and turned my back. "So switch off the light and let's get some sleep."

"Yer a mad bugger," he said with a little chuckle, and switched off the light.

Eventually he went to sleep.

It took me longer, because I wasn't used to sharing.

So that's how it works now. We have two rooms, but sleep together. We don't cuddle and kiss, just sleep together. I put on the nightdress once, but we both felt daft. It's Tranford so crossdressing is OK, but not compulsory.

Alf and Ginger say we bicker like an old married couple.