Rugged twenty-three year old Yorkshire hill farmer Dan Bellkirk’s enthusiasm for inventing ways to test and challenge his younger brother, Andy, usually involved some sort of wrapping, strapping, chaining or tying.

In the first of three rain-gear episodes the brothers have just finished hauling logs in the rain. Andy, in his one-piece khaki ex-army protective suit and industrial wellies has just slipped in the farmyard mud. Dan, in his black oilskin 'Foul Weather suit orders his brother into the barn.

... “Get your filthy ass in there!“ ordered Dan, dragging him onto his feet.
Both were dripping from the torrential rain as Andy obediently trod his way ahead of his brother. His muddy suit hissed and squeaked and his boots squelched as he headed into the old barn which housed the tractor and other farm implements. Farm implements! Instruments of torture; an old square frame chain rake which hadn’t been used on a field for years could be employed in innumerable ways if you have Dan’s fertile imagination. Several other sturdy old metal ‘constructions’ of dubious origin and purpose had been saved from the scrap yard and stored in the barn to add to Dan’s 'games'. Not only in the barn. Up on the moor edge, four old metal grids had been welded together into a solid mansize cage. Ostensibly an isolation pen for a randy ram, it had held Andy prisoner for many a cramped and humiliating day or night.

Andy looked meekly at his brother, hoping to win a smile. It had already been a busy and tiring day and it would soon be milking time ... but Andy knew the signs. His brother could handle the milking alone and often did. He waited as his powerful brother, massive in his black oilskins, inspected him gravely. “You mucky‑looking fuck‑pig. Just look at that suit. You have two choices. Two hours hog-tied on the barn floor then I hose you down where you lay ... or four hours tied to a tree at the end of the orchard in the rain to wash that shit off.”

“Four hours !” exploded Andy who didn‘t much enjoy being hog-tied on his stomach with his hands securely roped to his boots (because Dan had developed a knack of getting his ankle well up against his wrists).
“It’ll be supper time in three.”
“Not if I tell Mam we want to cut these branches and stack ‘em before it’s dark,” the older man explained in a reasonable tone “and she won’t come out here because of the rain ... and when I’ve done the milking I’ll even cut the flipping logs ... because you’ll be stood out there in the pissing rain unable to move a finger to wipe the drops off the end of your nose. And I’ll jack off just picturing you all done up in your big green suit ... the mud just being washed down, down, down and over your big butch wellies.”

As Dan said his say, his fingers traced patterns on the muddy waterproof, and then his fingers gently smeared Andy’s handsome face with thick ribs of not quite liquid earth ... which also carried a strong percentage of cow shit and urine. Andy stood impassively. He knew from long and painful experience not to resist his brother when he was in this familiar mood. “Which is it to be? Hog-tie or the orchard?”
Andy sighed. “Orchard ... for three?”
“No deals” said his brother as he began to make a careful choice between the plentiful selection of rope in the old feed bin and the variety of well‑used leather straps hanging from a row of nails in one of the horse stalls. Andy was relieved it wasn’t to be the chain which hung in assorted lengths from the central support pillar of the barn .

“Put your hood up and close the neck snaps ... it’s pissing down. Don’t want you to get wet ... just a little steamy perhaps. Here, carry these, shit face.” The various coils of rope were slammed into Andy’s stomach. Dan grinned at his brother and was pleased when the mud-caked face grinned back. He’s a tough little sod and game for anything, he thought as he walked out into the rain confident that his brother would follow without serious complaint.

By the time the brothers were half way to the end of the orchard furthermost from the house, most of the mud had already disappeared from Andy’s suit. It glistened in the rain which had, if anything, increased in it’s shear weight. The wind had dropped and rain fell ‘in stair-rods’ as the locals said. The peak on the hood of Dan‘s naval oilskins kept some rain off his face which was also protected by a high buttoned flap that covered his mouth and nose leaving only two shining eyes visible. In contrast Andy’s one-piece green suit was an army ‘chemical’ protective suit which would in normal circumstances have been worn with a gas mask. Andy almost wished that Dan had ordered him to bring one out ...but he didn’t so the rain lashed and splashed his face as he followed the broad-shouldered black oilskin back.

Suddenly Dan came to a halt by a surprisingly young and narrow tree trunk. As the black suited figure systematically roped the green suited figure to the tree in the pouring rain, if anyone from the local Young Farmers had happened on the scene ... they wouldn’t have been in the least bit surprised. The antics of Dangerous Dan and Randy Andy Belkirk had long since stopped surprising anybody. After any local Rugby Club booze up, soccer win, cricket match or local dance if any rowdy bawdy ‘skylarking’ took place, the locals knew that the two Belkirk brothers would certainly be the instigators. People shook their heads but secretly approved ... even the women. The gossips reasoned in their down-to-earth Yorkshire way that it was only natural ... healthy ... for growing lads to indulge in horseplay ... usually a bit ‘cheeky.’ In any farming community it was strictly between the lads ... if it sometimes got a bit near the knuckle ... well ... all good clean fun.

The younger element in the community had grown up aiding and abetting in the Belkirk brand of practical jokes and physical mayhem. A couple of pints was excuse enough. Like the Stag night that ended with the bridegroom-to-be, submerged in the local river up to his neck tied into a canvas parcel sack that the local post masters son had willingly provided. Since they were aged 13 and 10 respectively Dan and Andy had been the wildest of the local wild bunch. A couple of ‘Real lads’ the villagers admitted with that mixture of disapproval and grudging admiration. There were some who thought Dan’s influence on his younger brother wasn’t good. A more refined and bookish young chap Andy always seemed to be, but in every escapade he’d always been there in the thick of it, grinning his familiar likeable grin.

At present the grin was almost literally being wiped off his face by the torrential rain. Thank God Dan had let him put thick waterproof gloves on. They and the suit gave him some protection from the ropes. If Dan did his usual thorough job, in four hours time each rope would feel like a band of steel: Andy knew from practical experience. Dan was working quickly and thoroughly - feet well apart, wrists close to his sides downwards (which was something to be thankful for), but roped separately to the tree trunk ... so no chance of gaining any slack there, thought Andy, and his elbows weren’t roped yet which surprised him and gave him some hope ...

Dan gave a final pull on a knot and stood back, his eyes smiling out from inside the black shining hood. Andy flexed his body tentatively. Surprisingly, Dan hadn’t circled his chest or waist, and his arms and legs had an unusual amount of freedom. Naturally, the expertly tied ropes would not allow him to free himself but the low degree of restriction was a surprise.

“That feel OK?” asked Dan from behind the thick oilskin wall of his mouth cover. Andy needed to blow rain from his lips before saying “Fine” without sounding too comfortable. Looking down he was able to see that the glistening olive green plastic was already completely free of mud. Water dripped from the end of every finger of the heavy black industrial gloves which had even been allowed to stay trucked inside the cuffs of the suit to keep out the rain. Except for his face Andy was totally proof against the steady downpour, in fact every other part of his head and body was quite cosy and warm.

As if his Machiavellian brother could read his thoughts, Dan took a final piece of cord and began to attach it to a loop on top of Andy’s hood. As his head was tilted back and upwards, the full force of the stinging rain began to beat down onto the unprotected face. In panic Andy tried to turn his head from side to side, but the tough plastic hood had other loops over each ear which were already being linked by rope around the tree making any head movement impossible. Andy cried out in pain and frustration as Dan stood back to observe the writhing figure. Almost his whole body was free to thrash and move except the efficiently lashed boots and gloved wrists ... and, of course, the totally immobilised head.

“No ... please” said Andy as the rain stung his eyes and froze his nose.
“What?” said his brother placing his heavily hooded and muffled ear closer to Andy’s tortured face.
“No, please” yelled Andy desperately trying to rip the loops off his hood.

As the rain beat a loud tattoo on Dan’s broad black oilskin shoulders he leaned even closer to the struggling victim. The efforts brought increased showers of rain from the branches of the young tree. Damn me! !, Andy suddenly thought, was that on purpose? Using a tree that would sway about slightly and bring down more water. Even as he thrashed his body and struggled to free his hood, Andy couldn’t help admiring his brother’s perpetual fiendish ingenuity. With a supreme effort he managed to drag his face fractionally to one side. Strong fingers reached out to Andy’s throat and began to unsnap the high protective collar of the green suit.

“You having trouble, little brother?”

In anger and relief Andy wrenched his head away from the tree trunk as the collar came loose. He dropped his head to avoid the stinging rain.
“Is that better? Is that how you’d rather have it?”

Only when he heard the slightly surprised, mocking tone of his brother’s voice did Andy realised just how devilish was Dan’s mood today. The protective hood was not only still firmly lashed to the tree but the back of the neck of his suit was now gaping wide open, welcoming not only the pelting rain but every shower that each shake of the tree might produce. Andy’s short thick chestnut hair was already soaked and stinging trickles of icy water were already finding their way down the back of his neck and into the warm darkness of his suit. No way could he get his head back into the hood. As he tried, each movement brought down fresh showers from the leaves above. In spite of this Andy continued trying to regain the protection of the hood. This soon made him realise just how wide open the front collar and vent at his throat now was. Water began to trickle down his chest like freezing needles. In the middle of these efforts and discoveries Andy realised that his brother was standing grinning.
“I could stand here and toss myself off for a week just watching you thrash around like that, mate. I wish the old camera was rain proof.”

Andy squirmed as an icy rivulet of water found it’s cautious way down his neck and between his shoulder blades. He pressed against the tree to halt it’s course, but others from under his chin took this opportunity to find their way down onto his shoulders. There, icy fingers seemed to hesitate before deciding whether to take the route over heaving chest or into the warm depths of his armpits.

“So long, mate. Got to tell Mam we’ll both be tied up for a while. Got cows to milk ... then I might milk myself ... maybe come out and do it watching you squirm as the trickles find your waist ... the crack of your arse ... your belly ... your thighs. Hope I haven’t tied your ankles too tight. By supper time I want your boots to be filled with water. So long, chummy. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

As Andy watched the retreating back of his brother he felt, as usual, the same strange mixture of fury, helplessness and intense admiration. The broad shoulders and thighs, usually a tight belted waist and always boots. Andy fantasised about having life-sized pictures of his brother (back and front) in every one of his different sets of gear. The black oilskins, his waxed cotton motorbike suit, and, (of course) the six buckle trial boots, leather jeans and bike jacket ...

END OF EXCERPT

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