Henry was his father's son and it were time for him to leave school and go into father's business of Brummer Striving. It wert a farst dying trade which was fast dying.
'But Brummer Striving is a farst dying business, Father,' said young Henry, a young lad. His dad, Harry replied quickly.
'None of thy nonsence, Henry. All thy fathers beforehave and before even that before me were Brummers and that's a fact.'
With that he pulled his stumps nearer the fire.
'Tell me again father about how you got those prize stumps was it not with a Brummer Towdry?' said young teenage Henry.
'Why do you always ask about my stumps, Son,' said Harry to Henry with a reasurring.
'Because it's a story I love to hear, Father - and besides it's not every one what has a real cripple for a father.'
'There's something in what you say, I dare say,' said Henry eyeing his son proudly; thinking. 'My son's a Brummer if I ever saw one,' and he had.
'I want to be a golfer, Dad,' said Henry hopefully without a laugh.
'You're a Brummer, Son, so get it straight,' said dad Harry.
The next day Henry could not be seen or heard about the quaint little slum and dad Harry was beginning to worry. It's not like him, Mother,' he said to a right old hag who was living with them.
'Blast his hide,' said mother, with an accent.
As you might have guessed, teenage young Henry had run around from home and left.
'I'll show that stump,' said Henry to himself, for there was no one with him. Well, it just so happened man that teenage young Henry could not get a golfing job anywhere especially Golfing.
'It seems I'm a born Brummer like dad Harry says I am,' said Harry quietly for no one was listening to him. So he humbled his way homeward like any other teenage Henry would who couldn't get a golfing job. He spotted the slum of his childhood and said out loud 'Crub' which put it in a nutshell.
'Mother, Mother, it's me, teenage young Henry, I'm home,' he said hopeing to be noticed. But hag mother just kept on digging as if she had not noticed him and she hadn't. 'Mother, Mother, it's me' he said repeating himself whilst thinking - 'I wonder what she's digging, it can't be the sounds man.' Still the old wretch kept on digging and also singing to herself – a song you don't often hear now a days. 'Mother, Mother,' said peristant teenage Henry, who was beginning to be a bit of a drag.
'Can't you see I'm burying Soft Harry, your father,' said hag Mother at last.
'All I wanted was a civil answer,' replied Henry assuming responsibility.