THE BRATTISH ISLES

She’d had enough of Anger Land. The country was corrupt, violent and virtually lawless. It was unsafe
for a woman to venture out alone, even in the daytime. Vicki Biggers wondered what had happened to
the good old days when the only aggression was in the bed; when men swore only when it slipped out
and women got riled when both the cake and their man failed to rise.
It was the result of a passing conversation between Vicki and a few more women of Heave Ho that
the plan evolved; a dream that could come true. If they could get sufficient people interested, they would
procure a ship and sail out on the winds of providence in search of the Promised Land where there
would be no violence or abuse; a land where peace, love, respect and tranquillity prevailed.
The response to Vicki’s forum on the inter-vine of the bush telegraph was overwhelming. The list of
interested people – despondent people – those like Vicki and her friends, seemed endless. Vicki whittled
the list down to two hundred people of those most compatible. She had not included married people
who, from her own observations, were more inclined to argue and fight. She had not included members
of parliament, she did not want liars and cheats, nor had she included police officers, she wanted people
with at least a partial brain with some living cells.
The three-mast ship built of the finest oak was commissioned. It was a sturdy vessel that had
passed its water tunnel tests with flying sails. They procured a magnum of Three Kings champagne,
drank the contents and swung the empty bottle to christen the ship the MAY DAY.
With their belongings and provisions stowed in the holds, the MAY DAY set off from Heave Ho
heading west towards the setting sun and a new life.
They were but a few weeks into their journey when the winds began to strengthen, the sea was
heavy with a specific gravity of 1025. The wind blew hard and the waves rose high. The storm was
relentless. Vicki thought she saw white horses, but there were only waves with wind whipped crests.
For three weeks the MAY DAY battled the elements. With sails and masts broken and washed
overboard, the hull was tossed around like a cork in a flushing toilet. They repeatedly sent distress
messages, “Mayday, mayday...” but this was to no avail, the only response they got were messages of
greetings, “Hello, MAY DAY, so nice to hear from you, have a safe journey. Have fun.”
Finally the storm relented, the wind dropped and the sea calmed. “Land ho,” called a voice as the
battered ship slammed into rocks. The occupants scrambled ashore. So this is the Promised Land,
thought Vicki, her hair hanging from her head in salt-soaked strands. To her, this looked just like Anger
Land.
The group ventured across the Promised Land; it was a large island but there were no signs of
human habitation although there were animals they were all familiar with, sheep goats, pigs and
chickens. There were also vegetables and fruit plants they knew. It was not a tropical island, apart from
a few conifers, most trees were deciduous but the most important feature was that there were no other
people there.
Vicki had determined the ideal site on which to build a settlement, which was a valley with a fresh
water stream running through it. Whilst the men built, the women explored. They discovered an old sign
at the side of an old cobbled road, upon it was written ‘Watling Street’, close by was an old milestone
and engraved into it were the words ‘LONDINIUM CCIVII MILES’ with an arrow pointing east. The
women followed the old cobbled road eastwards until they came to a fast flowing channel. On the other
side of the channel, a half-mile or so, was a mainland and there were signs of human life; an occasional
stone house and wisps of smoke rising from between the trees. Nevertheless, with the fast flowing
channel between them, they would be safe.
Vicki was an educated woman with various academic degrees who, despite her young years, had a
wealth of experience. She was dogged, methodical and wise. She did not like wars or any acts of
violence, nor did she like anger or cursing, or swearing. She never swore herself and saw no reason why
anyone else should do it. She had always been of the opinion that swearing was a sign of illiteracy and
defeatism and often, desperation. Swearing she believed was the root cause of anger, aggression,
hostility, and even strife, neither of which were good for her or the people.

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 Vicki overheard an argument developing between a small group of people sitting on a grassy bank in
the valley. The subject of the argument, she thought, was trivial and so she sat amongst them to guide
them to an amicable agreement. The group had noticed that some of the animals were neither sheep nor
goats but the result of crossbreeding. Some of the group had said they should be called geep, and the
others said they should be called shoat. It was a silly argument.
“Sheep and goats, geeps and shoat, does it really matter?” she asked but without waiting for a reply
added; “After all, they are all God’s creatures so shouldn’t he be the one to decide?”
“How is that possible?” asked one of them.
“Through the Son of God, Jesus Christ,” responded Vicki.
“And how is that possible,” asked the same man.
“Wasn’t it Jesus who once said that we were all his sheep, his flock? So perhaps we should give
sheep the priority and call them shoat, and then we have sheep, shoat and goats.”
Everyone was in deep admiration of the cool way in which Vicki had handled the argument, which
she had turned into nothing more than a debate with a conclusion.
Vicki called the entire group to a meeting and put her ideas to them on how she thought they should
all behave and that she believed the root of all aggression was swearing which often led to arguments.
Gentle persuasion was far more effective than aggression, “After all,” she philosophised, “it was possible
to turn black into white by making soap from coal.”
“I think we should pass our first laws,” she said. “There will be no swearing, no cursing and no
arguing. I think if we make those our basic laws, there will be no need for a comprehensive list of written
rules that we all have difficulty understanding that may cause annoyance. But to aid these laws there
will be no marriages and no religion except in an elementary form of personal belief. We will have a
religious minister, but he, or she, will not preach or administer sermons, they will deliver only blessings
on births, deaths, and on non-binding heterosexual partnerships.”
The proposals were accepted unanimously. Penalty for contradiction would be isolation on the
southern end of the island for a period of time as determined by the sheriff or his deputy.

As the months turned into years, swearwords disappeared from their vocabulary entirely, so much so
that now no one knew how to swear. The older generation had completely forgotten and the new
generations never learned. The islanders were at peace with themselves and with their world. They were
a happy family and with so much bliss they reviewed their geographical status. They named the island,
Anger Less and the protective water between them and the mainland, the Menial Straits since it
separated them from the mainland Wallies.
They had also built a bridge across the Menial Straits, the Menial Bridge. This connected their
cobbled Watling Street to a similar cobbled street on the mainland of the Wallies, which they identified
as the Hi5. On the bridge were barrier gates with an office built into the castellated structure at the end
of the bridge. This prevented non-residents from entering the island but permitted the islanders to ply
back and forth on trade and technology visits. This office they called the Peace Port Control.
Vicki’s ideals for a trouble free country where there were only simple laws against swearing and
arguing worked to perfection. The island had been trouble free and the islanders were very happy,
perhaps even to complacency. Swearwords had been completely eradicated from the English language of
Anger Less. The only people who now knew what the swearwords were was the sheriff and his deputy
who had a dictionary and a thesaurus of these, but even they were bound by the laws of Anger Less and
forbidden to speak the words or even write them down.
The problem began when the new generations named their siblings. These generations were
dissatisfied with the names that their ancestors had brought with them. They began to invent new
names, but unbeknown to them some of the names they invented were swearwords of the Anger Land
English. Not knowing any better, names such as Dick Head and Fart Farmer sounded quite poetic, as
did other names such as Shit Smith, Tits Turner and Buggar Lutterworth.
Inevitably, people were arrested and isolated when they spoke these names, they did not know why,
the sheriff could not tell them, he could only do his job and put the offenders in isolation. The situation
got so bad that in time all of the people, other than the sheriff and his deputy, were in isolation on the
southern end of the island.

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 Those in isolation formed a new community and built a new settlement, which they aptly named
Sooth and Comfort. The new system was working perfectly and without a sheriff there was no one to
arrest them for swearwords that they had not known they were using.
All was well in the southern isolation area, the people were at peace, content and comfortable, at
least until some fishermen were washed ashore in their stricken fishing vessel. They were from a nearby
country to the west known as Error Land. The Error Landers were rescued, fed and sheltered and
quickly told that swearing and cursing was strictly forbidden on Anger Less. Spud Murphy and Paddy
O’Grady agreed.
The Error Landers were invited to share hospitalities at the Sooth and Comfort public house where
they were amazed to hear swearwords being used repeatedly and freely.
“Oy, Shit, here comes Fanny,” called Dick.
Spud and Paddy turned to see a beautiful young woman walked into the bar, “Nicest bit of fanny I’ve
seen for a long time,” whispered Spud to Paddy.
“Hi guys,” called Fanny. Nice to see yer Dick. Where’s Yerrarse?”
“He’s in the next room playing with Tits on the pool table,” replied Dick.
Fanny went up to Dick and kissed him on the head, “Glad you could come,” she said. “Where’s that
silly Buggar Lutterworth got to?”
“I’ve no idea, Fuck knows, why don’t you ask her?” replied Dick.
“Hello Shit, you smell nice, what is it, toilet water?” asked Fanny. Spud and Paddy were aghast,
“What’s going’ on, they told us swearing was prohibited here and now they are all swearing like
troopers?” asked Paddy.
“I need a drink, we might as well join ‘em,” responded Spud. “Come on, oil get the first.” The two
men walked up to the bar, “Two pints of lager and two fuckin’ whiskies,” called Spud to the barman.
“And give a pint to the buggar over there, you might as well give one to the prat next to him as well. Any
other arsehole want a fuckin’ drink?” he asked.
The pub fell silent, everyone was staring at the two Error Landers. Shit went up to them and asked
what language they were talking in and why were they making fun of the residents. Spud explained to
them that they were swearing in English, just as the islanders were doing; no more, no less.
The residents were confused, “But we are not swearing,” protested Shit. “At no time have we used
any swearwords, we do not swear at Anger Less,” replied Shit.
“Oim afraid that’s not right,” said Spud. “Many of your names are swearwords for a start and we’ve
heard you swearing since we arrived. Your name is a swearword, Shit, we use that a lot.”
“Then what does it mean in Anger Land English?” asked Shit.
“It means pooh, crap, excreta, that sort of thing,” replied Spud. “You know, the stuff that comes
from yer arse?”
“Why Yerrarse, That’s Dick’s brother? Asked Shit.
“Arse is swearing too,” said Paddy.
“So what does arse mean in Anger Land and Error Land?” asked Dick as he joined in.
Paddy patted his posterior, “This is yer arse,” replied Paddy.
“So my name is swearing too?” asked Dick.
“Sort of,” replied Spud. There are some people with the name of Richard and they shorten that
name to Dick, but mostly it refers to a penis. We call that a dick and some people we call dick-head,
like your name, but meant in a rude way.”
So what about Fanny?”
“A woman’s pussy, down here, you know?” Spud pointed to his groin.
“And John?” asked Dick.
“Nah, that’s not a swear word... unless you called someone a Johnny, a French letter, you know, a
condom.”
“We have someone here called Con Dom, so that’s rude too?” asked Dick.
“No, it’s okay to say condom,” said Paddy, “And him, Oaf, that’s okay too, good old English name.”
“So Oaf Huckitt is okay?” asked Shit.
“No, no, you can’t say oh fuck it.”

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 “I don’t understand,” said Shit. “You say Oaf is okay, so is Huckitt swearing? That was his great-
grandfathers name when they came here from Heave Ho.”
“Oaf is okay, Huckitt is okay, but when you put the two names together it becomes swearing.”

After absenting themselves from swearing for so many years it could plainly be seen how the islanders
had become confused. New words had been naturally processed into their language and it was inevitable
that some words would have double meanings in Anger Land English. But this was Anger Less, and for
the citizens the words were theirs and not bad.
However, the inevitable happened. The search and rescue mission for the Error Landers had finally
found the wrecked fishing boat and the rescuers had come ashore. With so much swearing and cursing
between the rescuers and the rescued, the islanders did not know if, or when they were being sworn at.
They had no alternative but to call the sheriff and his deputy in to remove the intruders and send them
away from Anger Less and this he did.
The problem now was that the sheriff was once more amongst them. He heard them swearing as
they called to each other by name. Since all the residents were in the south, the only thing that he could
do was to isolate them to the north. Soon all residents had been isolated once again. They formed a new
community and built a new settlement, which, in view of the past encounters, named the area Now-an’-
Then Comfort.
Again the residents, with the exception of the sheriff and his deputy, were all in isolation. The
process had repeated itself.

On a fine summer’s evening, Rhoda, a great-great-granddaughter of Vicki Biggars, called all the
residents to a general meeting on the slope of the largest valley so that her voice would amplify and
resonate vehemently, reaching the ears of all. She first addressed the people with the purpose in which
her great-great-grandmother had set out to achieve in building Anger Less into what it had become. She
acknowledged that even though it was not intentional to create profanities, nevertheless, in Anger Land
English, the words remained as such and for this as on the occasion of the visit by the Error Landers,
they could be misunderstood. Rhoda suggested that they changed the language and, to speed that up,
change the use of vowels. That way, there would be no bad words. She suggested that they change ‘u’ for
a ‘y’ or an ‘i’ and an ‘f’ replace the ‘v’, subsequently the ‘f’ would become ‘ff’ then names would not be
misconstrued.
“Surely Rhoda, we are going to be terribly confused. How do we know that when we change the name
it will not become another profanity?” asked one young lady. “And why should we change just to suit the
moronic tribes across the Menial Straits?”
“Well it won’t really matter will it? If we take your name for example, we now know that Fuck is a
swearword in Anger Land English, but if we change it to Ffyck it is still pronounced the same but it does
not look the same so it certainly cannot be taken offensively. In fact, I doubt very much if the speakers
of Anger Land English could even pronounce it.
“For all of you, I have already devised a new alphabet,” said Rhoda as she wrote it on a whiteboard.
It became quite clear that the names the Error Landers had pointed out as swearwords were no longer
spelt the same although pronunciation was the same.
“It will be simple to devise a new language and this I have already started on. I will leave you with
that idea, so talk about it amongst yourselves and if you have any suggestions, please let me know.”
An aging man, his bones bent by time and his body now supported by a well worn hawthorn stick,
peered out through bushy white eyebrows and raised his hand.
“Yes Dai Harder, do you want to say something?” shouted Rhoda.
The man spoke through his large white bushy beard, his shiny scalp growing through long, white
hair, “I think it is high time that we paid proper respect to the founder of our magnanimous land, your
great-great-grandmother, Vicki Biggers -- God rest her soul -- for with out her, our island would not be
what it is today. I say we erect a monument to her where all can see it and be constantly reminded of
her ideals and values.”
With tears in her eyes, Rhoda thanked the man and put his proposal forward. The proposal was
carried unanimously; they would erect such a monument and of a size so great that all could plainly see

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it and the inscriptions that it would bear. It was also agreed unanimously that the inscriptions would be
in the new Anger Less language. The finest sculptors, artists and stonemasons were commissioned for
the project.
Life continued harmoniously on Anger Land Island and the new language was developed and
commissioned. One year later, the monument to Vicki Biggers was complete; it stood twenty foot tall
with a statue of Vicki Biggers formed in polished bronze standing with arms outstretched on a
magnificent plinth of the finest marbles. They located it close to Menial Bridge where it could be seen by
islanders and the mainland Wallies alike.
The islanders gathered for the unveiling ceremony. Everyone was present for this immense
occasion, even the sheriff and his deputy was there who could stand freely amongst them since now,
Anger Land profanities had been completely eradicated. Rhoda and other dignitaries stood before the
monument.
Rhoda proudly made the dedication, “I unveil this monument in memory of the island’s most
esteemed and wondrous founder, my great-great-grandmother, Vicki Biggers, who never once in her life
uttered a swearword and who, by dogged perseverance, eradicated all Anger Land English profanities
from our language, thus giving lasting peace for us islanders.”
Rhoda pulled a satin cord and the silken drapes fell slowly from the monument, first revealing the
large, polished bronze effigy of Vicki in all her beauty with arms outstretched. Then the drapes fell more,
revealing the magnificent, massive marble plinth. Fireworks exploded in the air and the islanders
applauded loudly... and then Rhoda and the dignitaries gasped in utter disbelief for engraved on the
stone in the new language of Anger Less was the name of Vicki Biggers in letters half a metre high;
FUCKU BUGGARS 1730 – 1820.

But that was all a long time ago and as civilisation moved forward, place names were also changed. You
may know Anger Less better as Anglesey; the Menial Straits as the Menai Straits; Wallies has been more
aptly named Wales and Error Land is now known as Ireland. Anger Land to the west of Anglesey is, well,
still known as Anger Land as you will probably hear, if you watch international football matches on your
television set with the unmistakable chanting, “Anger Land, Anger Land...” you will recognise those
chanting it, they are the ones with pint beer glasses in their hands, or the ones, often without shirts on,
throwing chairs through shop windows.

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