The Apostrophe Catastrophe

Introduction: 
Discussions of a grammatical nature, although frowned on in some parts of the Net, are often interwoven with the fabric of comments on Corrie actors and characters on the Guestbook.  In 1997, the subject of the "missing" apostrophe in the sign of The Rovers Return was exercising the minds of some of the regulars.  I've reproduced some of these posts (in their entirety, so apologies for the lack of context) as a sort of introduction to the main feature.  If you don't want to read these first few posts as background, then you can skip to the real story behind the apostrophe's absence as presented by Dale and Ian.

As I recall, Terry and Curly's business was a secondhand shop, perhaps focussing on appliances? Terry is a useful character, coming in from time to time to cause trouble, usually via money or sex (there's other kinds of trouble in soaps?). He was very nice looking when he first appeared on the show, but - sigh - time can be cruel. The affair he had with an ex-army mate's wife was a separate story, the mate was played by the actor who now plays Gary Mallett but was not the same character in the show.

ROSEMARY: don't worry, they are only going to shift the Saturday screening back to Tuesday AGAIN. When I first heard the rumour that Corrie was being pulled I was all set to email TV3 (New Zealand's Canadian-owned channel) and offer them our support in bidding for Corrie. To whoever was asking about our R-habit, yes it does come from the British "our" of family, and has been used on this Guesbook for at least the last year.

RIAN: fell about laughing at the sausage joke - I'll be using it! Last night we had the factory fire, and I was dismayed to see that a thief had been at Baldwin's Sportswear and nicked his apostrophe. The same thief that nicked the Rover's apostrophe, no doubt. Grandma Grammar, get out that ruler and rap someone's knuckles at Granada. So much for thirty years of Ken Barlow's teaching the local yobbos to read and write. Cheers

Dale (wordplay@actrix.gen.nz)
Wellington, New Zealand - Tuesday, June 10, 1997 at 21:32:03 (EDT)

Hello from a damp and overcast London morning, but at least it's cool and fresh.

*** Spoiler Latest from the radio this morning, was the news that Bill Waddington (Percy) is quitting the Street (I don't know when) because he doesn't like the way the stories are going. How many of the long-time regulars will there be left. Rita, without Mavis, Maud without Maureen, how long will they last? What with Alf not really well enough to return, Billy too ill to return & Jack not in the best of health. I stated on this page about 2 months ago, that there had been 16 characters who had left the street since Christmas, now the list has grown much longer. Soon there will be no Street left. ***

ED our hamster got its name from a pop song of the time (around 1956) called 'Bimbo'. As for comics, my brother and I used to read the Beano, Dandy, Topper, Beezer, Radio Fun and The Eagle.

DALE re the Rovers apostrophe, the story goes that when the Rover's Return was first given its name, back in 1902 it was to celebrate Paul Ridley's safe home coming from the Boer War, but the first landlord Jim Corbishley dropped the apostrophe at the end of the first world war to acknowledge the return of all the young men from the war, therefore The Rovers Return should not have an apostrophe.

IAN for a short period in the 60's I was a butcher and we made our own sausages - I'll say no more.

CATHY Terry was never worked on the bins with Curly, Eddie Yeats did, but Terry & Curly did set-up in business together selling cleaning items from door-to-door for a short while and also collecting second-hand items, that was before Terry got bored and Curly started his business management course at college.

Time to start work I think, it's now 7.10 am. TTFN

David Reed (david.reed@Ladbrokes.co.uk)
London, UK - Wednesday, June 11, 1997 at 02:12:41 (EDT)

Dale: Re: Rovers Return's missing apostrophe. Yes, I may be being pedantic, but I'm a linguist, it's my job. There used to be an apostrophe when the pub first opened in 1902. When the first world war ended, to commemorate the rovers who did return, the name was changed by dropping the apostrophe. Continuing the Terry biography; he and Curly worked at Len Fairclough's old yard, which they bought / rented from Rita. Sally worked there for a while as their secretary and Terry went out with her very briefly. I'm glad they got rid of the yard; it was in the days when outdoor shots were shot on film and indoor ones on video, and it made it look a bit cheap. The yard was so obviously a studio set, because you could see the studio lights reflecting off Curly's glasses, and the artificial sunlight cast four shadows. TTFN

Craig (c.deeley@bcftcs.ac.uk)
Birmingham, England - Wednesday, June 11, 1997 at 04:07:17 (EDT)

I may have got the wrong end of the stick here, but if the name of the pub was changed from 'The Rover's Return' to indicate that it referred to more than one rover, shouldn't the apostrophe just have been moved to the end of the word, as in 'The Rovers' Return'?? Where is Grandma Grammar when we need her?

On the subject of Terry Duckworth's past, I distinctly remember him having a passionate snog with Sally in the builder's yard (or is it builders' - was there more than one builder?). This was when Sally was dating Kevin, but I can't remember if Kevin ever found out about it. Sally wasn't such a paragon of virtue in those days!

Dee
Belfast, N Ireland - Wednesday, June 11, 1997 at 08:08:22 (EDT)

Dee, okay, this is all I want to say on apostrophes (if we're not careful, we'll start getting threatening messages, like that person that mentioned her cats!). You are right that the apostrophe should have been after the "s" if it referred to the return of more than one rover. However, in this case, it's The Rovers Return, as in: verb; third person plural. E.g. the cats play, the customers drink their beer, the rovers return from the war. Does anyone remember Sally's little sister Gina? When Sally first came into the show as Sally Seddon, Hilda Ogden disapproved of her and Kevin's relationship, implying that she was a 'bit of a slapper', and that the family was 'dog rough'. Terry was even trying to get his way with Sally after she and Kevin got engaged. Anyway, TTFN

Craig (c.deeley@bcftcs.ac.uk)
Birmingham, England - Wednesday, June 11, 1997 at 08:35:51 (EDT)

Alright alright! I give in. This is really my last visit to the apostrophe-fest. I got my information from a book called 'Weatherfield Life', which charts the history of the Street and its (NB. no apostrophe necessary here) inhabitants from 1902, when the Street was first built up to the present day. This information came from a section talking about the end of the First World War and the Weatherfield inhabitants who did return. Now I'm the first to admit, there should really be an apostrophe there, and although some pub names are very bizarre, I have yet to see one with a sentence as a name. I think that basically, this information was given to cover up this grammatical error. BTW, has anyone ever heard of Grocers' apostrophe? I think it may only be something here in the UK, but basically, it happens when shop owners display their wares outside and put little price tags with things like: Tomato's 50p / lb , onion's 20p / lb. Spelling mistakes are also essential; eg. bananana's , broccolly etc. PS, please, any grocers out there don't have a go at me because I'm not too hot on the price of tomato's or onion's'. Byee

Craig (c.deeley@bcftcs.ac.uk)
Birmingham, UK - Wednesday, June 11, 1997 at 11:03:33 (EDT)

I have no comment on the Street today, so I'll write the rest of this in brown so that the Corrie-pedants don't hurt themselves. The actual colour is called baker's (note the apostrophe) chocolate to illustrate the following problem. Now, I've investigated this apostrophe question at length, and I've discovered a flaw in the Cadbury Company corporate image, a flaw which necessitates the boycotting of chocolates and 7-Up. This flaw is Cadbury's complete disregard for the English language. "How?" you ask? Well, it is the inconsistency of Cadbury in naming their chocolate bars. For example, they sell "Cadbury (no apostrophe) Crispy Crunch", BUT they also sell Cadbury's (apostrophe) Wunderbar right beside it! This is incredible and totally unacceptable!!! We must fight this rotten use of the English language!!! Think I'll go and have a Hershey's bar. TTFN

Ian (ian.charnley@gpo.canada.cdev.com)
- Wednesday, June 11, 1997 at 15:43:36 (EDT)

Just popping in to say hello and also to let you know that I am still around keeping an eye on things! It's been a long time. However, I defer to CRAIG'S greater experience and ability. I just feel that basic grammar, so that one can communicate effectively, is very important - and that includes apostrophes!

Grandma Grammar (The Old School)
- Wednesday, June 11, 1997 at 16:42:19 (EDT)

Someone asked if there was more than one builder. Yes. The yard was owned by Len Fairclough. He then started a partnership with Jerry Booth. When Jerry temporarily left CS he sold no. 13 to Stan & Hilda after divorcing Myra. Len then sold the partnership to Ray Langton who became Deirdre's first husband. Then Ray left. Len died. Rita rented the yard to Bill Webster on his first time round. She also rented it out to Terry & Curly. When those two unlikely lads split up Rita eventually sold the yard. Others who worked at the builders (no apostrophe, I'm doomed) were Stan Ogden as labourer, Deirdre Langton as secretary/bookkeeper. When Stan's wages came up for settlement, Bill Owen made a guest appearance as the local union convenor. Gosh, that blew the brain cells. I hope that I have chronologically accurate but I expect I may have made a slip somewhere.

David Copping (copping@enterprise.net)
Polegate, UK - Wednesday, June 11, 1997 at 17:08:52 (EDT)

CRAIG: I'm sure you're right - the Rovers' "explanation" was made up to cover up Signwriter's Apostrophe Loss, a terrible affliction even worse than Male Pattern Baldness. The Rovers' Return it is. And how many Baldwins returned to their sportswear? Hah! About "slapper" - I don't remember this word being used in Hilda's day, it's far more recent. Hilda would have said "trollop".

BUBBLES: Nodding Dog is Reg Holdsworth - think about it.

DAVID: "Bimbo's got two big brown eyes that light up just like stars... and the way to light them up is to buy him candy bars..." A dubious philosophy, but that's the song, isn't it? You and I really must have a grotty old sing-song one of these years.

NO MORE PLOTS: I simple don't believe them when they say they have run out of plots. Ena, Minnie and Martha had about 3.4 plots between them in all the years they were on. It was the interplay between them, and the depiction of character that made them so interesting. Few young actors/actresses have sufficient personality to carry this style off, so the plot lines get more and more "impactful" to disguise the actors' personality deficiency. That Maxine, for example, could be any pretty face and bare midriff. Also, how can young characters reminisce? Always a delight of the programme. What can they get nostalgic about - Boy George? Spare me days.

Cheers

Dale (wordplay@actrix.gen.nz)
Wellington, New Zealand - Thursday, June 12, 1997 at 01:12:47 (EDT)

Well, after last weeks omnibus overload, yesterdays was much, much better. It left me wanting more. Just goes to show what comedic pros Alec and Fred, ISF are. Their facial expressions alone are worth the price of admission. Now if they only brought Reg back........I've got it! Reg comes back to manage the Rover's' (there - all apostrophes covered) and takes on Curly as his cellar man! Bet returns and marries Reg. Can you imagine the nodding then??

Re: the Queen: I have it on good authority that all the Royal Rest Rooms are equipped with "pay-as-you-go" facilities, so Her Majesty also hoards a good supply of loose change in Her Majesty's 'andbag, hence the size. A little known fact is that the lavatories are pay-to-EXIT, rather than pay-to-enter, so, the longer your stay, the more you pay to get out. Hundreds and hundreds of foreign dignitaries have been caught with this clever ruse, much to their embarrassment. In these cases, Her Majesty dons a clever push-button change belt (also kept in her 'andbag) and makes the rounds of all the Royal Rest Rooms at social functions to make change for those trapped in the loo.

You may remember an incident with Canada's former Prime Minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau at a Royal function in London. The incident was broadcast around the world when Trudeau, and other world leaders attending the function, exited a building following Her Royal Highness. As Her Royal Highness descended the steps, Trudeau did a pirouette on the steps that was captured on film for eternity. Common knowledge is that Trudeau was being disrespectful to Her Majesty. This is in error and is attributed to the sensationalism of the paparazzi. The true story is that Trudeau had been caught in Her Majesty's bog booby trap earlier in the day, and vowed not to be caught in the trap again. Thus his unbounded exuberance upon getting out of the function without paying, while at the same time, dying to spend a penny, to coin a phrase!

True story!

Ian (ian.charnley@gpo.canada.cdev.com)
- Monday, June 16, 1997 at 14:27:34 (EDT)

THE REAL STORY (following another enquiry almost 18 months later than the above)

I think IAN and I might be able to help with that apostrophe enquiry. Years ago, a departing resident of Coronation Street placed a powerful curse on the residents of the Street. The curse was a swift and terrible retribution for a wrong that resident considered, rightly or wrongly, to have been done to them. The curse took the form of wishing death to any apostrophe that ever set foot in Coronation Street or its environs.

The first victim of the curse was the apostrophe that formerly lived in the Rover's Return. It simply fell off the building one frosty night and landed with a clunk on the cobbles, and was later swept up by Stan Ogden and sold for scrap.

Jim's Cafe was the next to lose its treasured apostrophe. It spontaneously combusted, in an incident that was mistakenly known as the great chip pan fire of 1978. Alma escaped with her blouse scorched, but Jim lost his eyebrows and departed for Spain in shame and terror.

Alf's Minimarket followed suit not long after - Alf being a gentleman of the old school, his persistent attempts to restore the plastic apostrophe are a matter of record, and added greatly to the stress that later led to his heart condition and eventually to his selling the corner store completely. He tipped the wink to young Fiona, however, when she opened her salon. "Don't you be calling it Fiona's," he warned her. "No good will come of it." That is why she called it Hair by Fiona Middleton, and why Audrey in her turn refused to call the salon Audrey's. A wise move.

Roy, alas, a stickler for detail, is doomed to experience all the heartache that Alf went through. Night after night Roy goes painstakingly over those menus and signs with his felt markers, writing in all the missing apostrophes. To his chagrin, every morning he comes downstairs to find they have once again vanished, leaving him with a hole in his menus and a doleful feeling of incompleteness. He hasn't said a word to anyone, but the suspicion that he is the victim of black magic is growing in Roy, and he is thinking of having a séance. Perhaps even exorcising the caffy. Omnibus, minibus. We wish you luck Roy, in your quest for apostrophic fulfilment: in Coronation Street, it's a doomed ambition.

As to who the Street resident was who brought down the original curse, and why they thought it fitting, I'll let R IAN fill you in on that......

Dale
Wellington, New Zealand
wordgame@punctuation.xtra.co.nz
Sunday, November 01, 1998 at 20:14:07 (GMT/BST) from []

......Roy simply could not understand the disappearance of all of his apostrophes, the punctuation formerly known as inverted comma. Or why his café should be besmirched with a curse. He thought very hard about this problem, occasionally dipping into his satchel and playing with an interesting item that he picked up from a curio shop in Amsterdam. The grizzled old woman said that it was a sacred ankh that she had found on the left bank (of the Nile, not the Seine). She suggested that the ankh had mystical powers, a declaration that Roy shrugged off with that typical cavalier attitude of his.

The more Roy held the object, the more agitated he became. He vowed to end this curse, and resolved to enlist Les Battersby's help. He drew himself up, marched over to Les' house and thumped on the door. "If you're lookin' for RToyah, she's over at Barlow's!", and promptly slammed the door in Roy's face. Ordinarily, Roy would have slinked off to the Rovers for a few pints of orange juice (with the pulp), but he was on a mission. He again knocked on the door which Les flung open. "Wot did I tell ya, ya plonker?" he bellowed. "Um, excuse me Mr. Battersby, but I have a problem that you may be able to help me with". "Wot are ya talkin' about, ya twister?" (As you've guessed, Les is never at a loss for a good epithet.)

"Well," said Roy, "I've noticed that you are very good with cryptic crosswords!" Les stole quick glances to the left and right and, on seeing no one of consequence, just Greg and Sally snogging in the corner, yanked Roy inside. "Listen you cracked crate egg...if you tell anyone about me doin' them crosswords..." "No, no Mr. Battersby, it's just that I've seen you in the library, doing the Times and Guardian cryptic crosswords, and in very good time I might add, and I wondered if you might be able to help me with a small problem..."

"A 'small' problem indeed," mused Les. "The apostrophe completely changes the meaning of a phrase, you daft 'apeth." "Why, Roy's Rolls means that the rolls are yours, while Roys Rolls implies that the rolls belong to Roys, but only if an apostrophe followed the 'y's! Do you see?" "Um, well...no," admitted Roy who was experiencing déjâ vu, all over again. Roy had once again seized the ankh and was dreaming of pyramids, drifting sands and egg and chips. He was just taking the chips out of the pan when...

Well, I'll let RDale fill you in...

Ian
--
charnley@ besmirchhotmail.com
Monday, November 02, 1998 at 03:35:48 (GMT/BST) from [cacheflow-01.ripnet.com]

A strange figure walked into Roy's Rolls and sat down at a table. It was a woman - tall, dressed smartly all in black, hatted and veiled, and with impenetrable Raybans shielding her eyes. She seemed to gaze round the caffy, taking everything in - but was she? Roy couldn't be sure. Rolling back his Marigolds, and setting the chips to one side for Gail to serve, he went over to see whether the mysterious stranger was in need of sustenance. "What can I get you madam?" he asked.

Roy did not know why he was so surprised when the figure replied with an indeterminate accent that was half Canadian, half purest gravelly Weatherfield: "Ee, I could go a chip butty right now! And add some gravy and curd cheese would you? I could eat a scabby 'orse!"

Surely - Stephen Reid had not been taking the hormones? Weren't two transsexuals one more than the Street could cope with right now? It was certainly more than Roy could accommodate, and he struggled to find the words with which to reply to the stranger. "I - I'll see what I can d-do," he finally stammered, "Though under EC regulations we may only serve certified farm-bred horse steaks, and I think scabby ones are actually prohibited since the Great Brussels Equus Scabbius Mountain scam of 1979 that sent the Belgian franc plummeting."

The tall stranger pulled down her Raybans and looked at him quizzically over their rims. Her glance was caught by Gail, serving Les Battersby a scabby chip mountain on the other side of the caffy. Gail gave a start of surprise. "I'd know that voice anywhere!" she exclaimed, coming over. "It's R Linda Cheveski! Many, many years since we've seen you on the Street - what's new with you? What brings you back here, all the way from Canada? Oh no - it's not your mam...?"

Linda nodded, and dabbed at her eyes with a lace hanky. "Mam's passed on, Gail," she choked. "She had a grand life, and a colourful one, God knows, but she's passed peacefully over in Portugal, in the arms of the man she loved. And in her will she's asked me to right a terrible wrong she did to her old neighbours on Coronation Street. To lift a curse that's been plaguing you all for nigh on twenty year. She's asked me to come back here and find the person who owns the twin of her magic talisman, and to get his or her help in lifting the curse. Only then can she rest peacefully in her grave."

"What talisman is this?" Gail asked, her eyes as round as barm cakes. But Roy's eyes were far from round. They narrowed to slits, as he watched Linda Cheveski take from her crocodile bag a small bronze article that looked oh, so familiar. It couldn't be... but it was. An ankh. An ankh that could be the twin of the one in his jacket pocket...

RIAN knows what happened next.

Dale
- New Zealand
-
Monday, November 02, 1998 at 22:08:15 (GMT/BST) from []

.........Les Battersby was midway through counting the chips in his chip mountain (doesn't like to be short-changed, does RLes), when Linda Cheveski produced the second ankh from her hanky. He also stopped trying to make sense of the only cryptic clue in yesterday's Guardian that he had trouble with. The answer was 'kurrajong', of course, but he thought the clue 'Tough bark a Dingo could lean on' was just a wee bit 'over-the-top'.

Les' left eye narrowed to a slit while his right eye was as round as a barm cake. Some might call this look 'quizzical', but Les had a chip stuck in his gob, which caused Roy to blurt out "Popeye"! Roy quickly made amends by saying that the chip mountain was 'on the house', a phrase that Les never tires of hearing.

Roy steadied himself as he slowly withdrew the ankh, his ankh, out of his jacket pocket. Gail's eyes grew even wider and she was rendered speechless, which was a fair bit of luck for all concerned. Linda placed the ankh on the table and as Roy approached, the colour began to shift from bronze to a sort of beryllium-cobalt-chloride colour reminiscent of the colour found in the ancient tombs of Egypt, which, as we all know… Ok, it changed to a luminescent green, as did Roy's ankh. There was also a general feeling of unease as a strange, unpleasant odour permeated the caff. All eyes immediately fell on Les. Les flipped a rude gesture as he ignored the glances and continued staring at the glowing ankhs.

It was then that a second strange figure walked into Roy's Rolls. A swarthy individual in flowing robes approached the table and spoke in a language never before heard in Weatherfield, yet all could understand him. "The coming together of the two ankhs has summoned me from Glasgow", said the stranger. "Ah!" said Les, "Glasgow! that explains the odd language, then…" "The glowing ankhs signal that there is a curse to be lifted," said the stranger, "but before the curse can be laid to rest a voyage must be undertaken. The two owners must take the ankhs to Stonehenge. You must each take with you the following items: a jar of Branston pickle, a bottle of Druid fluid, a pair of tartan underwear, and a large trout. Once you arrive, you will…"

Ian
--
charnley@stonehengehotmail.com
Wednesday, November 04, 1998 at 00:15:15 (GMT/BST) from [ppp8155.on.bellglobal.com]

"Once at Stonehenge, you will receive further instructions," grated the Scottish Sage. Under the mesmeric spell of the swarthy stranger, who introduced himself as Mick L. MacMuckle, the motley band of Stonehenge pilgrims intent on lifting the Curse of Coro (aka the Apostrophe Catastrophe) gathered up their belongings and headed for the corner shop, where Ashleh was only too glad to sell them two jars of Branston pickle that were dangerously near to their sell-by date. (Roy paused only to switch off the chip cooker and align all the chairs to face east, as was his wont.)

The tartan underwear was easily borrowed from the MacDonalds' clothesline, and the two large trout obtained in a trice from Jackson's chippy. Les decided to join the group, having just noticed that the cryptic clue "Pa nor a ma" which he had answered with "scenic" should in fact have read "orphan", and a whole corner of the crossword was wrong. He threw the Guardian disgustedly at a passing whippet, and rejoined Roy, MacMuckle, Linda and Gail as they gathered outside Ken's front door.

An unshaven Ken answered the door in his Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas, smelling faintly of Dandelion and Burdock and last night's chicken tikka.

He had really gone to seed since the suave heyday of his Golden Years Escort work, but the sight of the glamorous Linda Cheveski had him pulling his stomach in and starting to turn on the old charm. His yellow teeth flashed palely in the Weatherfield sun as he said: "Linda! It's been so long! What can I do for you?"

He made a brave attempt at a twinkle. The effort was not lost on Linda, who remembered a past Wakes Week romp with Ken on the backseat of a charabanc bound for the Peak District. There was almost a girlish flutter as she said: "Ken, do you still observe the solstice?" Ken looked wary: "Depends who's asking." Druids did not reveal all their secrets to total strangers. "Oh come on Ken," urged Linda, and told him the story of the ancient curse of Weatherfield, brought down by her vengeful mother Elsie, and told him why they needed the Druid fluid. "That's why from that day to this, no apostrophe has been able to stick in the vicinity of Coronation Street. That's why, no matter how hard you tried to teach them, Ken, for two generations no child has left Weatherfield Comprehensive with a single O level in English. If you won't do it for me, Ken, do it for the kids!!!"

Ken Barlow wavered, visibly shaken by the news that the appalling educational standards of his ex-pupils may not after all be due to his failings as a teacher. He made up his mind. "I'll get the sacred fluid for you on one condition, RLinda," he finally said. "I'm coming with you!" Linda looked relieved: "Oh Ken, what a proud moment it will be when a new generation of little Weatherfielders can grasp the ancient and royal principle of the use of the apostrophe, and stand tall and take their place in the sun! You're a great teacher Ken! I know your day will come again!"
Ken's chest swelled with anticipatory pride, and he drew himself up to his full height, as he handed over two small bottles of Druid Fluid to Roy and Linda. It was a bad mistake. With a soft swoosh of winceyette, his Thomas the Tank Engine pyjama pants fell round his ankles. He swooped to gather them up, but not before the whole group had noticed the heart tattooed on his left buttock, with the chain of female names crossed through trailing beneath it halfway down his thigh, starting with "Mum" and ending with "Deirdre" (twice). Linda was startled to see her own name sandwiched near the top, between "Doreen" and "Irma".

Dale
- New Zealand
-
Wednesday, November 04, 1998 at 02:59:41 (GMT/BST) from [p13-m16-wn4.dialup.xtra.co.nz]

Ken's pasty visage turned various shades of pink, cerise, carmine, scarlet and ruby, finally ending up a deep crimson. Linda stared at the list in awe while Gail ran screaming off down Rosamund Street, which was another HUGE break for the brave group. Les, always the wag, could only blurt out "Barlow, you cheeky monkey!" Ken lost control at that remark, and slammed the door in the group's collective face. "Well, I've never been so humiliated," said Linda. "Course you have," snorted Les "I've heard the stories!" To which Linda wound up and belted him across the chops with her handbag. The blow sent Les reeling across the road into the newspaper display outside the Kabin. "Och, hoots mon, come oon," whispered MacMuckle "we'd best get oot of here!"

Les picked himself up and dusted himself off, and before you could say "That Sulky and Grub storyline is making me ill, what are those writers thinking of anyway? Let's get Dale and Ian writing the plots, etc, etc..." Ken was dressed and out of the house. But Les had noticed a strange headline in the Weatherfield Gazette, "Apostrophe Stolen From Firmans Freezers!" "There's no time to lose!" said MacMuckle, and the intrepid pentad piled into a cab and were off to the train station.

Things were getting progressively worse. The cab driver lost his way as street names were being altered. Wooton's Way wasn't any more, and there was a Mariners Inn where a Mariner's Inn used to be. "Ere, wot's goin on, then?" voiced the cabbie, "Oi don't loik this one bit!" They arrived at the station just in time to catch the 3:38 to London, but again things worsened. With all the deregulation at British Rail, the group found themselves arriving in London via Garstang, Preston, Blackpool, Crewe, B'ham, Colchester and Folkestone!

Les was bouncing off the walls as they pulled into London as he hadn't had a crossword to do for ages. He spilled out of the coach and made a bee-line for the nearest newsagent. The rest of the group found him a few minutes later muttering and writing furiously amid a pile of tattered Guardian. "Mr Battersby, what on earth are you doing?" spluttered Roy. "All the apostrophes are missing from this newspaper! I noticed that the crossword clues made even less sense than usual because of it," mused Les. "This cannot go on - let's get on the tube and get as close as we can to Stonehenge, then take a cab the rest of the way," commanded Ken. "Hang on Baaloow," yelled Les, "Who kicked off and left you in charge?" "C'mon Les, we have to stick together if we are going to put this curse to rest," answered Ken.

The motley crew's arrival at the ancient site was accompanied by an eerie, diffused light and a low, pulsating sound emanating from the third rock on the left. "Hmm, can't blame that on Les," thought Roy. The closer they came, the higher the pitch, finally reaching a level, just as the fearless five entered the circle, that shattered the two jars of Branston pickle...

Ian
Spencerhenge,-
-
Wednesday, November 04, 1998 at 23:52:09 (GMT/BST) from [ppp968.on.bellglobal.com]

The confluence of the two ankhs was causing disruptions in the apostrophic time/space continuum, even though the intrepid Stonehenge pilgrims had not yet recited the appropriate ritual to lift Elsie's Curse. Ken wiped the Branston pickle off his olive green anorak and helped Linda to remove a few vinegary splashes from her smart black suit. Their eyes met over the shards and there was a definite frisson of electricity between them. They moved inexorably towards a clinch, and were stopped only by Les's baleful glance.

The sky took on a pinkish tinge as the sun prepared to rise over the ancient Henge. Roy was examining the two phials of Druid's Fluid and quizzing MacMuckle on the finer points of life as the Geni of the Ankh.

"It's no so bad," said MacMuckle, "I'm paid by piecework, there's verra little call on my time for magick these days, and I spend most of my days in ma haggis nursery farm I run alongside historic Loch Ness." He rapidly filled in Roy on the finer points of breeding haggis that stayed moist when microwaved, and of sizing them appropriately for the catering trade.

Roy interjected: "I once heard that haggis are more difficult to breed in captivity than pandas." "Och aye," replied MacMuckle, "Many's the time I've had to give the wee couples a little encouragement to help Nature along - "

"Artificial insemination?" asked a fascinated Roy.

"Nae," says MacMuckle, "I bung some Johnny Walker in their mash and put on a Julio Iglesias tape."

"Now that's enough!" Les interposed. "We're here to lift a curse, not to discuss the mating habits of obscure Caledonian animals or to get involved in rumpeh pankeh!" His unexpected sternness focussed their attention on the job at hand. Quickly they shuffled into position according to MacMuckle's instructions, as the first rays of the rising sun started to light the sky. Lifting both ankhs aloft, Ken began the ancient Druid's apostrophe curse lifting chant, handed down from mother to daughter through time immemorial, but only able to be lifted by a practising druid and his acolytes. "Omnibus, minibus..." his voice rang out confidently, the others joining in with "Bala, laniger, lanigerne es" and "Oh divina Clementina, o meae deliciae." As their voices rang out across the ancient standing stones and the sun beamed up over the horizon, a strange sound was heard.

The air started to buzz and shimmer, and a small hazy black cloud was seen to form over the centre of Stonehenge and the heads of the curselifters. "Look at those midges!" said Les, but he was corrected by Roy: "Those are not midges, Mr Battersby... I could almost swear they're...they're..." The note of shrill excitement in his voice was interrupted by a howl from the cloud, which began to pelt forth a stinging black hail. It was a strange hail, a dry hail, it had the group hopping with pain and seeking shelter in vain in the shadow of the stark stones. The black hail piled up around their feet and blew in drifts round the base of the stones. Ken picked up a handful and his voice was triumphant as he shouted out what he found.

"We've done it! We've reversed the curse and it's returning them! These are the missing apostrophes!!!"...

Dale
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Friday, November 06, 1998 at 00:28:55 (GMT/BST) from [p27-m3-wn4.dialup.xtra.co.nz]

...But, wait! Ken had forgotten about the large trout, which was now well hidden under the growing mountain of apostrophes. In Ken's amorous, yet repulsive, move on Linda, he had forgotten one of the most important elements of curse removal; that of limiting the removal of the removal. In other words, stopping the curse removal before it carried over into a curse of equal, yet opposite strength. That is to say, the apostrophes were returning, but they were returning in all the wrong places! "Ken, ya daft plonker!" exclaimed Les. "Why didn't ya keep yer mind on t' job?" "I...I...I forgot about the trout," whispered Ken "And I forgot to say 'From the Cotswallops Hills to Blackpool Tower, To reverse this curse I now have the power, The curse reverses of that there is no doubt, But halt the reverse by the scales on this trout.' Oh, what are we to do now?" wailed Ken.

"Hoots mon, be quiet!" cried MacMuckle "It's back to Weatherfield for more Druid Fluid and some additional items. Then we must away to a secret location to reverse the reverse of the curse. British Rail was still acting up, so the trip took them back home via Warwick, Watford, Wooten, Wallingford, Watford Gap, Wigan, Wexford, Wycliffe, Wigan Pier and Crewe. They had to change trains twice and change coaches three times, twice at Crewe. That prompted Les to fire off a quick "You plonkers should call this Rubbish Rail, we could have walked home faster than this!" to the Station Master as they pulled out of Crewe. The Station Master flung a rolled up train schedule at Les that caught him right between the eyes and knocked him back in the coach. Linda started giggling and the others soon followed suit until all were roaring uncontrollably at Les sprawled out on the floor. Les wasn't laughing. He had unrolled the train schedule and was looking at the phrase 'Train's for Blackpool - change at Crewe'. There was an apostrophe in 'trains'. This stopped the laughter in a hurry and they all fell silent for the rest of the trip.

It was Roy that first noticed the struggle going on as they approached Coronation Street. Two men way up on the scaffolding at Steve McDonald's work site. As they drew closer they made out the figures of Steve and Greg pushing each other around. Voices were muffled, but they heard the name 'Maxine' called out several times, and as they came closer they heard more. "You bonked her while seeing Fiona, you cheap little bug-eyed git!" yelled Greg. "Oh yeah, well...well...you...you dumped her for an elderly woman." shot back Steve. The staunch bunch were watching the spectacle with interest and started making comments on the exhibition. "Very good point from our Greg, there," mouthed Les. "And stunningly quick repartee from Steve," voiced Ken. As they watched the show, an overpowering stench invaded the cab that had them all gagging and gasping for air. "What on earth is that smell?" asked Linda as she placed her hanky over her mouth so as to stifle the technicolour yawn that was welling up inside. "It's coming from that skip that just parked under the scaffolding there," squeaked Roy, who was also trying to keep his lunch down. MacMuckle was the only one enjoying the odor. "That, my friends, is the farm-fresh smell of well-rotted pig muck!" he said. "I use it on ma haggis farm to keep Nessie away as she abhors th..." Just then the scaffolding gave way and the two spiteful cretins fell into the foul-smelling effluvia to everyone's delight, except Les', of course. The skip drove off with the two desperately trying to get out, but the manure was simply too slippery.

The resolute band rounded a corner and saw Curly staring in disbelief at the Firman's Freezer's sign. It was the same with all the signs; Riverdale Record's and Tape's, East Ender's Motor's, Roy's Roll's, all the name's had apostrophe's thrown in. "Och, this is worse than I thought," uttered MacMuckle. "We need the Druid Fluid, but we also need lycra for a slingshot, an overcooked haggis, three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge...no, no, no, forget those last three, we need......"

Ian the Tardy, King of Spencerville
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charnley@hhotmail.com
Friday, November 13, 1998 at 00:29:11 (GMT/BST) from [ppp19664.on.bellglobal.com]

"To reverse the reverse on the curse, we need the Druid Fluid," uttered MacMuckle to the Apostrophe Catastrophe Curse Reversers, "lycra for a slingshot, an overcooked haggis...... and another ingredient which I've completely forgotten, but for the cryptic clue by which we Genii of the Ankhs always remember our magick recipes. The clue is that the chant has to be performed under HIJKLMNO, so what is it that we must acquire."

"Don't tell me!" said Les the avid cryptic fan, "It's on the tip of my tongue..." Meanwhile, the group split up into a scavenger hunt and tracked down the lycra slingshot (the bin bags left behind the McDonald's by Liz's departure yielding an abundance of lycra hip strips that she had called skirts). Ken made a few swift phone calls and within minutes a stretch limo with opaque windows pulled into the street. A white-robe-clad figure had extended an arm out of the window and the sun glinted on his Philippe Patek watch as he proffered a cut glass bottle of the pearly liquid towards a grateful Ken. "Aha, the Druid's Fluid!" "Be careful," said the mystery figure, "It's a very strong batch and needs careful handling." For a small consideration, Fred Elliott was persuaded to part with the haggis he had been saving for Hogmanay, and Linda set up camp in Ken's kitchen starting to boil it beyond extinction. As they passed the Rover's' Return, they could not help but notice that the sign outside said "Happy Hour: All drink's half pri'ce".

Things were going from bad to wor'se. The tartan trews wrapped round the glowing fused ankhs hummed quietly in Roy's carryall, and the trout, which had travelled back to Weatherfield thrust down Les's trousers, hummed too in its own way. All seemed set...if only, thought Mick L MacMuckle, I could remember that last, crucial ingredient... HIJKLMNO. He tore his long white hair in despair. To think that the good burgher's of Weatherfield were fated to drown in a sea of unwanted apostrophe's, all because he could not remember the simplest of magick recipe's. He'd be demoted back to that lamp, and have to spend years cooped up in the dark listening to a succession of prats coming out with their three wishes. I get cramp in my legs, he thought dismally, and the lamp had only a long drop loo. Why didn't any of them have the simple wit to wish for a bigger lamp, he thought - then we'd all be happy.

He rallied the troops for one last assault on the apostrophes, trusting that he'd remember the missing ingredient on the journey. He knew where they must go to perform the reversal - the most ancient and terrible place in Weatherfield. With a solemn face, he gathered Les, Ken, Roy and Linda on the banks of the Cut, near the Red Rec. The evil swirling open sewage that passed for water in the Cut dribbled blackly and lumpily past. Strange mutant grasses grew on its edges, and the midges, could they but examine them closely enough, all had two heads. The Cut had been Weatherfield's sink of pollution ever since the Romans had drained their latrines into it. The awful sight and reek of it went straight to Les's brain. "I've got it! I knew I knew it!" he boasted. "The spell has to be performed under HIJKLMNO, you say - well that's dead easy! The letters form H to O, don't they? H2O = water!" He was cockawhoop at his own cleverness - but the group exchanged uneasy glances. Who was going to be the one who would climb into the Cut and recite the chant? Every eye was on Ken, as he stammered......

Dale
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Monday, November 16, 1998 at 04:42:15 (GMT/BST) from [p16-m7-wn4.dialup.xtra.co.nz]

......as he stammered, "In-into the c-cut? Me go in-into th-the cut? Y-You want ME to go into the cut?" Ken was not a happy chap. "C'mon Ken, snap out of it," jeered Les, "I've done MY part in deciphering the clue, now chuck yerself in the cut and gerron wiv it!" Ken gingerly set his right foot in the soiled water only to hear a hissing sound and he blanched as a wisp of acrid smoke curled upward. He looked down to see the rubber sole on his shoe bubbling. "I can't go in there," he declared, a small tear forming at his eye, "I'll top meself if I do that!"

The group stared at the cut and nodded in agreement as they watched an artificial leg bob to the surface and then slowly submerge. "Artificial Appendage's Model 2000 Replace-a-Leg," stated Roy, "all-aluminum construction with anti-sway and self-lubricating stabi-lock knee and ankle, it's the kind that Don Brennan used to wear!" The group marvelled at Roy's attention to detail as he continued, "Did you know that Don did not take milk in his tea? I found this most interesting as taking milk in one's tea, poured in the cup before the tea, of course, is..."

That's it!" interrupted Mick L MacMuckle, "Les was wrong, although it was a commendable try. You don't have to go underwater at all Ken!" To which Ken heaved a sigh of relief, and then heaved from the stench in the cut. Now if you can imagine a pale green face with the yellow teeth, you'll have a fairly good idea of how the rest of them felt. "No, the under water reversal has nothing to do with the apostrophe curse. I know what we have to do now! Ken, You grab the haggis and wait for us at the Rover's."

MacMuckle explained the cryptic clue to the rest of the band. "The clue HIJKLMNO is not H2O at all, it is an anagram of MILK and JOHN! And milk is the missing ingredient." babbled a happy MacMuckle. "Now we have the ingredients, we must go to the Rover's which has the public john closest to the site of the placement of the original curse. There, we will pour the milk in the toilet bowl, and pour the Druid Fluid in the reservoir. Ken will then fashion a supported weight, the haggis, on the reservoir pull chain. Then we all stand back and sling an object at the support which will cause the john to flush, mixing the Druid Fluid with the milk. The resulting heat bloom will render the haggis harmless to humans, and with any luck, it will be flushed down the loo."

MacMuckle was pleased with himself. "Nothing can go wrong now," he thought. "This is it, the end of the reverse the reverse of the curse." He was feeling pretty good about himself now and he decided that the reverse the reverse of the curse would sound better called the atrophy of the apostrophe catastrophe. All hands assembled at the Rover's and to no one's surprise, Les tried to con a pint out of Alec. "Cheeky monkey," said Alec dryly. Ken went to put the necessary ingredients in the loo only to find both the men's and women's loos occupied. "Excuse me," he spoke at the men's door, "this is an emergency. I must have access to the Gent's." "Sorry, no can do, pal," came Jack's throaty reply. Ken tried the Ladies next to hear Vera's shrill response, "We're not coming out til that horrible little worm Gilroy gives us back our jobs and our flat!" MacMuckle's face fell as he pondered what to do next...

Ian (Druid Power - yeah)
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charnley@ drop the druidhotmail.com
Wednesday, November 18, 1998 at 00:17:49 (GMT/BST) from [ppp8176.on.bellglobal.com]

As a livid purple cloud of apostrophic disaster hovered over the Rover's, the shower of falling apostrophes was creating havoc in Weatherfield. Scamper lay whimpering in his kennel, having broken a tooth biting a particularly savoury smelling one that had fallen off Elliott's butchery, and two of Jack's pigeons had broken wings incurred when flying home through the stinging black apostrophic hail.

The Apostrophe Catastrophe Curse Reversers stood crestfallen outside the Rover's loos, the street door of the Rover's swung open and a pale and shaken Emily Bishop was helped to the bar by Nurse Platt. A small wound over her eye was bleeding copiously, and she sat down heavily on a banquette. Martin called for a medicinal brandy.

"Roy, Ken, I beg you - do something! They're falling through skylights now, and one of them's beaned Mrs Bishop! You've got to reverse the curse before someone gets killed!"

"But how can we possibly get Mr and Mrs Duckworth out of the facilities?" a frustrated Roy replied. "I think I can manage it," Ken replied, frowning at the Rover's menu board which was now offering sau'sage's with a choice of ma'shed potato's or chip's and mu'shy pea's. The catastrophe was turning critical. "I haven't motivated generations of Weatherfield children without learning a thing or two." Cunning Ken approached the loo doors and raised his voice in apparent greeting: "Why hello, Mr and Mrs Horten! And if it isn't little RTommeh! How he's grown --!!"

In a flash Vera's door swung open and she shot forward into the room as only an anguished grandmother can.

Quicker than lightning MacMuckle and the Curse Reversers took possession of the Ladie's and used one of Liz's old skirts to tie the haggis to the flush chain pull. Every preparation in place, Ken as Officiating Druid poured the milk ceremoniously into the bowl, and held the vial of Druid's Fluid high over the toilet cistern as he chanted the ancient curse reverse verse that would restore the balance of nature and syntax.

"From the rain of deluge apostrophic
And grammar and syntax all chaotic
From misspelt signs and erroneous letters
From lack of respect for your elders and betters
From ghoulies and ghosties and long leggety beasties
And things that go bump on your head
May the Spirits of this Place deliver us!"
He swiftly concluded:
"Return this land to a state of grace
With every thing in its proper place!"

He poured a thin stream of the pearly Druid Fluid into the swirling waters of the tank. With a thundercrack the heavens split open and a lightning bolt shot down through the Rover's ceiling, ran down the pearly Druid Fluid and shattered the toilet bowl beneath.

"Duck!!" cried MacMuckle, and furniture flew over with a crash as bodies dived for cover. There was a sound like ripping fabric as the curse reverse went into overdrive and with a mighty suction, all the superfluous apostrophes swept out the door of the Rover's and every other premises in Weatherfield.

For a second, and no longer, the apostrophic cloud shimmered and shook, then the great redistribution began. With a noise like very small bullets ricocheting, and a small sizzle of smoke, the apostrophes began winging their way home. Roy uttered a great sob of joy as he ran to his café and found the sign outside now said, quite properly "Roy's Rolls". Firman's Freezers was now splendidly punctuated, as was Elliott's, Jackson's Chippy, and a host of other local identities.

The relief on Ken's face was palpable. MacMuckle rose, seized him by the hand, and said "Well done! Ma work here is now done. Far away a tribe of small haggises are greeting for their evening neeps. I must awa and take care of ma bairns. Farethee well to ye all. And in future remember: dinna meddle with the mighty rules of grammar and syntax - or worse things than apostrophes might shower on ye!" It was cheap, it was theatrical, and how he did that trick with the puff of blue smoke was anyone's guess, but suddenly there he wasn't.

Ken led the good burghers of Weatherfield outside the pub and together they looked up in awe at a sight not seen in Coronation Street for many a year. "Three cheers for MacMuckle and the catastrophe atrophy! Our birthright is restored to us! Hip ray! Hip ray! Hip ray!" Their voices rose in unison. And if you followed their line of sight, you would see winking in the sun, a mint and gleaming golden apostrophe that was sitting neatly between the R and the S on the Rover's Return. The world's most-missed apostrophe had come home to roost. The rover had returned.

THE END

Dale
Wellington, New Zealand
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Friday, November 20, 1998 at 02:33:08 (GMT/BST) from [p32-m17-wn4.dialup.xtra.co.nz]