Who is that masked man?
His real name is Norman but you must promise me that you will tell nobody his true identify, as his anonymity is what enables him to drift unnoticed around the small town he lives in fighting crime, protecting the innocent and upholding the law.
Norman is and always has been obsessed with the West, no not Cornwall the ‘Wild West’. As a child he would avidly watch every Western on TV, Hopalong Cassidy, Gunsmoke, The Rifleman, Wanted Dead or Alive, Have Gun will travel, Wagon Train, Cheyenne and Rawhide to name but a few. Norman’s biggest hero however was ‘The Lone Ranger’ and it was after witnessing a mugging on his way home from a Line Dancing evening at the Masonic Temple that Norman decided the town needed a masked hero and ‘The Loon Ranger’ was born.
Norman is how can I put it? Physically distinctive! He is almost seven feet tall, has an unusual round pot-belly that makes him look pregnant, he has long red hair and a matching large bulbous red nose. So he would not be recognized when carrying out he vigilante good deeds it was essential he wore a disguise, a small black mask covering his eyes was ideal.
There could be no ‘Lone Ranger’ without Tonto so Norman decided to recruit his best-fried Gethin a fellow Western enthusiast as his trusty sidekick. Gethin was very dark skinned for a Welshman, which is perhaps why his parents chose this name for him. He was more than happy to join his friend in his quest to bring law and order to the town and had long thought the local bobby to be an inadequate wimp. Gethin became ‘Tiptoe’ the stealth Indian taking advantage of his small frame and natural ability to creep up unnoticed on people. The only disadvantage he had was a tendency to suddenly burst into song and rattle off a verse of ‘Bread of Heaven’.
Norman decided in this day and age it would be impractical to go charging about the town on a large white horse, he lived in a small studio apartment in the centre of town so where would he keep it? He purchased a small grey Shetland pony that dribbled a lot which he named ‘Saliva’ he told his partially sighted landlady Grace that it was a large cat and she agreed to let him keep it. Tiptoe who lived in a bungalow on the outskirts of town decided to use a rescue donkey called Windy as his preferred mode of transport and to maintain the silent approach purchased two pairs of carpet slippers for the beast. It was only after paying good money to the stranger in the pub for the donkey that Gethin discovered the animal had a serious flatulence problem.
The friends had been a crime-fighting duo for five years and to date had been less that a roaring success. Apart from solving old Mrs. Williams missing budgie mystery, the cat ate it; they had been abject failures as vigilantes go. This was soon to change.
Whilst on a routine patrol one Wednesday evening they came by chance upon a disturbance at the Badger Road Newsagents, Offlicence and Sub Post Office. The store was about to close and there was one elderly female customer in the shop about to purchase her mid week lottery ticket when a large gang of three hooded youths burst into the store brandishing sticks and demanding cash, booze and boiled sweets.
‘Hi-ho Saliva away!’ Shouted The Loon Ranger (Norman). The small overburdened pony tried to enter into the spirit of the adventure and rear up onto it’s hind legs but found this a task too far, it’s small stumpy legs gave way and it collapsed under the weight of the seven foot, pot-bellied vigilante.
Picking the pony up Norman burst into the shop with the dribbling and exhausted Saliva under his arm leaving a trail of drool on the shop floor as they approached the gang of dangerous hooded twelve year olds. The youths tuned and on seeing the strange masked giant with a small horse under his arm decided that attack was the best form of defense and stated poking him with their sticks.
Tiptoe had parked his slippered donkey outside by the shop door and the youths had not noticed him enter the store and creep up behind them until he burst into song. Taken aback by this hideous noise they ran towards the shop door slipping on the trail of drool left by Saliva. Picking themselves up they staggered through the door just as Windy let one rip. They ran straight into the noxious cloud made more potent by the Curry the donkey had eaten for its tea. All three were stopped dead in their tracks, turned a strange shade of green and collapsed in a heap on the pavement.
The Loon Ranger and Tiptoe left, their deed done and in the silence that followed the elderly female customer said to the shopkeeper.
“Who was that masked man?”
“Oh that was Norman” Replied Mr. Patel.