Weepy and Nardy I sat at a wooden dining table in a house just at the junction of East Street, Mell Road and Woodrolfe Road. I guessed the house stood roughly where Leavett’s Butcher’s stands today. The tall man and the short man had walked in front and I had followed them without question. The two men sat down opposite me and thus it was in that small candle-lit room that I first saw their faces. The shorter of the two had a balding head and a grey beard that hung down way past his chin, almost touching his chest. He had blue eyes and a flat nose that may have been pressed one too many times by errant children. And between the strands of his beard was a permanent smile. It was as if the beard itself had been formed purely to stop this squat little man’s face from literally falling apart with laughter. “I am Weepy,” he said. The other, taller man also had little hair upon his head. It seemed all to have gathered above his top lip in a wonderful moustache.
