The Man from Delaware Gets Lost in Sussex
Created | Updated Dec 24, 2017
Another adventure of the Man from Delaware. Geography can be so confusing. It's all the fault of emigrants.
The Man from Delaware Gets Lost in Sussex
Being a time-and-space-travelling Delawarian wasn't easy. For one thing, his accent sounded equally odd in all places and times, other than on a pirate ship. He'd been on a pirate ship once, and Mr Teach thought he sounded just fine, and appreciated his sail-setting skills. Say that five times fast, as they say in Slower Lower Delaware.
Normally, he didn't really mind being teleported without warning all over the space-time continuum. He didn't even mind the off-and-on toothache. But this time, he thought, they (whoever or whatever they were) had gone too bleedin' far.
One minute, he was sunning himself on the shores of staid, quiet, peaceful (!) Rehoboth Beach. In a bathing suit. The next, he was. . .
. . . sunning himself on a much windier, more deserted beach on quite a different shore. He knew he wasn't in Delaware any more. For one thing, he could no longer hear the sound of Whack-a-Mole behind him, nor the German voices of Mennonite children out for a day at the Shore. What he heard was. . .
Surf. Wind whistling in his hearing aids. The cries of seagulls.
The Man from Delaware moistened a finger. Wind from the east, he thought. And the tide's coming in. Wonder where I am? I have a strong suspicion I'm on the other side of the Atlantic. Somehow this feels like the other end of the Gulf Stream. When he looked about him and saw chalk everywhere, he was certain he was in England.
Wouldn't it be just like Them to confuse Sussex County, Delaware, with Sussex, England? Wouldn't it just? Oh, well, he thought, While I'm here, I might as well pop over to the Long Man Brewery near Wilmington. He meant Wilmington, Sussex, UK, not Wilmington, Delaware, which is near Philadelphia and, of course, Christiana Mall. Christiana used to be a Swedish settlement. Now it was one of the world's great meccas for bargain hunters. But the beer around there was terrible. So, pub grub ahoy, if he could locate his trousers and credit cards. . .
It wasn't until he was lacing up his brogans that the Man from Delaware had an uneasy thought. I know where I am, but when am I?
That was when he heard the New Noise. Distant, coming up under the (to his hearing aids) roar of the wind and the echoing, plaintive cries of the seagulls. A whump-whump of growing intensity, like a Leslie warming up. . .
The sound of rowers. The beat of a drum. The sound of singing – off-key, but definitely an attempt at singing. He turned up his hearing aids and strained to hear the words. Oh, my, that's….
NORMAN FRENCH! The Man from Delaware took to his heels. Real Ale would have to wait. He needed to find somewhere to hide from a couple of armies.
As he dove into a hollow tree, his thought was, If I could only turn into a werewolf, that would be handy right about now.
