Merlin and I had called in at the Bear Pit Club to have a snack and a mug of the club's citrus shandy. Part of the appeal of these visits is to see if the landlord, Finley Osbourne, has any new tall tales to entertain us.
On this occasion, vibrating lips from a noisy sigh suggested Finley had something else on his mind.
"Problem, Finn?" I asked.
"Uhuh. Oktoberfest," he said, clearly unhappy.
Bertram Bamboo, drinking nearby, overheard.
"We're getting an Oktoberfest?" he said, hope bordering on excitement.
"Not us," said Finley.
Bertram's shoulders slumped. "Aw, shame. Good ales, Charlie Furbanks with his hot dog van, pretzels from Appleblossom’s bakery... It would've been good."
"No Bertie, it's being held at Critsberg."
"Not too far then," said the panda. "I'll have a word with Charlie and see if he's going. Maybe he can give me a lift."
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| Bertam thinks... |
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| Bertram thinks further... |
Where is Critsberg?. Well, if one were to cross Mellowdene bridge and take the road towards JollyOakFields, about halfway there you would pass an area of sparse woodland on your left bordering a country lane. This leads to the small village that is Critsberg. A few years ago the inhabitants decided to try and raise the profile of their village, holding a few events ostensibly to attract newcomers to join their population. An Oktoberfest was probably one such event.
Why would this be a problem to Finley? I asked him.
"It's to do with Mellowdene Day approaching. Did you know it's five years since the last formal celebration?"
"Is it? Oh, I suppose it is. It was the time Newton did a little presentation about how Mellowdene got its irrigation."
"Yes. Well, I had it in mind it was only four years ago. I only realised my error this morning, that I would need to arrange a beer tent and a large supply of ales."
Merlin nodded sagely. "The Oktoberfest would give you supply problems."
"Spot on. I contacted Marcus Tan at the brewery but the organisers at Critsberg have reserved all his extra stock. I've got my regular order for the Bear Pit but by all accounts Marcus won't be able to add sufficient ale to his stock before Mellowdene Day."
"That's unfortunate."
"I've only got myself to blame. Marcus gets a finite amount of hops from his wife's family. The Huntingdons grow a decent sized crop but they can only harvest a certain amount."
"So what are you going to do if the brewery can't help you with enough ale?"
"Look further afield, I suppose."
"Does it have to be ale?" asked Merlin. "Horace Honeybear might help you produce mead. The sea cats should have access to grog. Tanner Blackberry might have enough apples for cider."
"Potcheen," said Bertram. "Get some potatoes."
Finley inclined his head, presumably considering this. "Marcus is making a delivery today. I could ask him if he could do that."
An accented voice cut through. "Oi could do what, Finn?"
Marcus Tan had entered the room. Finley summarised our conversation and Marcus shook his head.
"T'would be nice, " - he pronounced the word as 'noyss' - "but the equipment is different. Oi'd need stills to make potcheen. Sorry, Finn. It's a shame, though. My Oktoberfest contact really wanted more variety than the beers oi makes."
"Really?" commented Merlin.
"'Tis roight. It'd help you, Finn, if oi could've obloiged 'em. You could've had half of the beers oi've reserved for 'em."
Merlin glanced at me before rejoining the conversation. "Chunglewood," he said.
We all turned to look at him and he went on to answer our unasked question.
"Because they brew their own drink from a mix of vegetables and other edible plants. Owen Quiller calls it whoopsuckle juice..."
"Good name," said Bertram.
"I suppose so. Owen had a flask of the stuff and he have me a little to sample. It was... very pleasant. Anyway, Owen told me they make a lot more than they can consume. The surplus alcohol is used for heaters and other equipment they need to power. Still drinkable nonetheless."
"What are you thinking, Merle?" I prompted.
"If we could ask them to trade their excess whoopsuckle juice for some equipment that wouldn't need the alcohol to run..."
Marcus nodded. "...and, provoided it's decent, oi can replace maybe half of the Oktoberfest beer with this other stuff. It would help you too, Finn."
"We'd need to give it a good taste test," said Bertram.
We all looked at him and he had the good grace to laugh. "Well, I'm an aficionado of fine beverages."
Nodding slowly, Marcus turned towards Finley. "Speaking of foin beverages, Bevan Acaster is waiting in the wagon outsoid. Are we okay to unload the barrels?"
"You are, pal," said Finley. "The store room's unlocked."
"Roight. We'll get on."
With that, Mellowdene's much appreciated brewer made his exit to join Bevan.
Our thoughts returned to the promise of whoopsuckle juice.
I wondered how the trade might be approached. "I'd recommend having a word with John Silk to see how best to do business with the Chunglewood people."
"I agree," said Merlin. "Jackson's been there and I've had extensive discussions with Owen. Although it might be only be a one-off deal, you'd want to make a good impression so that other trading opportunities are looked upon favourably."
"Excellent point," mused Finley, "And if all goes well it would make my contribution to Mellowdene Day more of an Oktoberfest."
"Novemberfest," said a voice. It was George Mulberry. He had been sipping his ale, quietly paying attention to the conversation.
He smiled at our confusion, adding, "'Cause Mellowdene Day is in November."
A fair point.
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