Urban Myths And Legends

It is August, the dog-days of Summer are here with us in Atlanta but while the rest of the world is getting ready for vacations we are thinking of going back to school. Conversation at the pool has developed a new focus.
Rather than being rude about each other and discussing the price of fish we are dwelling on our children's intellectual prowess (and they are all talented). I have heard more than one parent assure anyone listening that their child (sons in particular) is very bright but has just not been able to get into reading. A straight 'A' student and a natural athlete may have one failing:- his inability to pick up a book and read it from cover to cover. It is hard to find a good book for boys but I would recommend a good dose of Urban Myths. Their unique blend of goriness and impossible truths will help any straight 'A' student advance even further.
The two myths that I remember feature plenty of blood and gore. The first took place on a foggy Moore in Yorkshire and involved a young bride, her new husband and a broken down car. The brave man goes off for help whilst the bride dozes through the night only to be wakened by thumps on the roof of the car. She is halted from opening the car door by the distorted voice of someone talking to her through a megaphone. She is advised to leave the car quickly and run towards the sound of the voice without looking back. She leaves the car runs, but looks back only to find out that the thumping on the roof of the car is being caused by a demon/lunatic/villain repeatedly slamming the decapitated head of her beloved on the metal roof. I can not remember what happened after that.
The second involves a young man or a woman who has been out partying in some foreign city. They have too much fun and wake up the next morning in a strange hotel room or in the gutter with something more than a hang-over. Further examination reveals that their bodies are covered in crude surgical scars. Even further examination reveals that their non-vital organs have been stolen to help with the lack of organs available for transplants in that particular country.
It doesn't really matter if these tales are true or not but with a few well-chosen descriptive words their content can capture the heart and a few brain-cells of many reluctant readers.

The Wood family have a couple of urban myths that I feel should be written down before they are forgotten. How true the tales are and where they stem from is lost in the mists of time by family members who prefer a good laugh and an attentive audience rather than facts that can authenticated.
My father was born in Scotland his mother came from a rather well-to-do family but I don't think his father did. Dad was the first born son and to recognise the importance of this his mother was given a large silver-cross carriage pram by her father. A silver-cross pram is equivalent to a Rolls Royce car in the world of baby transportation. Every afternoon the proud young mother would wheel my father to the grocery store and leave him in the pram outside whilst she purchased a few provisions (everybody did this in those days). One dreadful afternoon she left the shop only to find that the silver-cross pram was gone. Fortunately my father had been left lying on the pavement. Rumour has it that when she told the tale tearfully to her father his only comments concerned the stupidity of leaving an expensive pram outside the shop. No comment was made about the rejection of his only grandchild. Could this tale be true? And do we really care?
The other Wood Urban Myth takes place much later on and concerns my mother, my brother, Adam, and his best friend Danny.
When Adam and Danny were about five they were taken on a school trip to the zoo at Whipsinade. As zoos go this zoo was better than most, the animals were in large enclosures and in a lot of cases you could walk amongst the animals. Obviously, not the lions and tigers and bears but the rabbits and goats and sheep. You could also get up close to the penguins.
Each child carried one small backpack for his lunch and a pencil. They moved from enclosure to enclosure enjoying all they saw. At the end of the day Danny came back to our house to play and have tea (probably spaghetti and chocolate cup-cakes). He would not allow my mother to touch his backpack even though it was explained to him that she was just going to clear out the remains of the packed lunch. Mum, not being a stupid woman, waited until the boys were distracted and tackled Danny's backpack. To her horror she found a rather weak baby penguin. Straight away she telephones the zoo to ask for assistance. They are very cross and tell her to put the poor thing in the salad crisper at the bottom of the fridge. She does so without delay and within the hour an emergency vet ambulance arrives to take the baby bird home. I believe it did survive. my mother probably had a couple of glasses of sherry, smoked a few menthol cigarettes and dined out on the story whenever she could.
Adam says this is not a true story at all but I think I can remember it or some of it.