I sat in a quaint pub, guzzling its real ales,
and wondering how I could reconnect with Gabriela, my lost love, who was somewhere in Hicklegate, that famous spa town of North Yorkshire.

Then, staggering past the war memorial,
I was halted in my tracks by a preacher, and stood transfixed as he told me that ‘Jesus saves’.

‘Really?’ I said to myself, thinking that this town attracts some right oddballs,
while noting that the evangelical orator was from a nearby secret establishment,
up there in the hills, rumoured to be a listening post for the post Cold-War era.

This military base, due to its design, is known locally as the ‘Golf Balls’,
and is used by our American cousins to guard our shores.

Ordered by PC Middlehump to partake of a strong coffee, or face a sojourn in the cells, I encountered Miss Theresa Thistlebinhire,
a visiting writer from the Canadian town of Montmorency Falls.

‘I’m paying homage to author Agatha Christie,'
she declared, ‘who fled to that hotel behind us, hoping to stay incognito,
in an effort to escape from an adulterous husband.’

We got on so well that I offered to be her guide, but my tourist talk was interrupted by a drifter called 'Bebop’ Brian, swaying to a tune booming from the radio held tightly in his fist.

Then Theresa invited him to The Nosy Novelist, a Waterspoons hostelry, for fish and chips.

We left him snoozing behind a plant plot and escaped to Hicklegate’s famous cafe Parlour, Buncies, for tea and an expensive cake.

Outside, a busker called Singing Sam gave us Procul Harem’s A Whiter Shade of Pale, 
then asked, ‘Have you any requests?

‘I’ve a great play list, ranging from prog rock to skiffle, and do a great version of My Old Man’s a Dustman.’

Prompting me to remark, ‘You look like you’ve been sleeping in one.’

But his response cut me to the quick,
‘You’ll be in one if you don’t stop drinking so much ale.’

Then I asked Theresa, ‘Has your research revealed that Dracula dined in that establishment you’ve just left?’

She looked surprised, ‘Really?’

But the annoying busking man interjected, ‘Did he have tea and stake?’

Theresa laughed, adding, ‘Maybe he came here after landing in Whitby, in a ship full of the dead.’

Some mischievous spirit compelled me to add,
‘Indeed, the count called the manager of Buncies a bloodsucker,
after complaining about the prices.’

Just then my lost love appeared, escorted by an American military type,
who introduced himself as Loo-tenant Bugs Brooksplately, explaining, 'I do something with cyphers.’

The military chap announced, ‘I have an affinity with this town, due to my grandad Fred.
He came here, after the Battle of Ypres, pronounced Wypers.

‘Let me introduce you to this lovely lady, a Ukrainian refugee,
whom I've made most welcome, inspired by our Saviour Jesus.’

‘I bet you did,’ I thought.

Jealous of this fellow, I could only hide my chagrin, as he told Theresa how his grandfather had danced with Agatha Christie, 
while she was holed up in his hotel, confessing to fleeing the front line, a shell-shocked wreck.

But being a trained actor, had reinvented himself as an artist on Paris’ Left Bank,
calling himself Monsieur Magleflat.

Then Bebop Brian popped up again, saying he’s forming a band with our busking pal, called The Drifters.

‘That name’s already been taken,’ I pointed out.

‘Aye,' he agreed, ‘But they’re a black foursome, while we’re a duo, and white.’

‘Let’s celebrate,’ Theresa said, ‘by all going for fish and chips, in the Nosy Novelist, my treat.’

Arriving in said place, Gabriela sat under a portrait of Agatha Christie, 
while I sneakily joined her, putting Bugs’ nose out.

She nodded at the artistic work, saying, ‘That’s by Bugs’ grandad,
he was a refugee of sorts, fleeing war, like me.’

Then to my dismay she blandly announced, ‘I’m now a Christian, 
devoted to the sect with the great title of We're All Born Again,
founded by Loo-tenant Bugs Brookplately, so I shall not partake of alcohol.

‘But if you think I want his hand in marriage, cute though he is, you are a fool!’

So ended a day which began with me as 'A drunken disgrace', according to a policeman.
and ended with a reunion with my sweetheart, thanks to an American who works in a 'golf ball'.

He's no doubt able to hear my new-found love say, ‘I love it in Hicklegate.

'I’ve found a new friend, Theresa, who is just one in a long line of oddballs.’

By which you’ll gather that the Canadian has said goodbye to her birthplace of Montmorency Falls.
For a genius is never appreciated in his, or her own country. 

But herself, Bebop Brian and Singing Sam, find it ironic that finding my lost love has now condemned me to a life of sobriety!