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About this blog

Your one stop shop for all the gossip and news from the town of Haton.

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The Nameless One

Cricket has been formally discarded and all records expunged. That was the announcement at the Extraordinary Meeting held last night, made by the Very Reverend Barnaby after the cricket pitch was once again destroyed by marauding gangs of ghouls, orruks, all manner of undead, and blue horrors. The extra cost of replacing the pitch, coupled with the expense of new floodlights (which, as reported at the previous meeting, is now a prerequisite for entry to the lucrative Twenty20 winter league) has finally put too much pressure on the finances of the Hatton Town Cricket Club. So much so, that the organisation is to be immediately ceased. All equipment must be returned by end of business next Friday.
To replace this pastime, it has been decided that Hatton Town Cricket Club (HTCC) will become the Hatton Town Cannons!!! Club (HTCC) (saves on reprinting the kit). It’s a much more economical game, reuses the now defunct artillery accessories (since Harry Harrysun ran off with all the cannons) , and does not require a four man team working around the clock to keep the playing area playable. Trials for the new team will be every third Thursday until the vernal equinox.  Smelly Pete is still banned from all physically demanding activities.
So that’s it – a new dawn for Hatton! Cricket is no more. Long live Cannons!!!



So, what the hell is Cannons? Join our resident sporting expert, Norris Noteworthy, as he explains all the deets about this exciting new sport!

The aim of the game of Cannons!!! is to be the first team to score an ‘arsenil’. To score an ‘arsenil’ requires each player to throw their cannon ball into one of the vacant spaces in the ‘monkey’.  Once all the spaces are filled by a team’s balls, then this team will score an ‘arsenil’. The winning team must, as one, call out “******” immediately followed by the losing team calling out, also in unison, “Nil!” 
Play continues until one team has scored 83 ‘arsenils’.
Each team has 6 players – 4 Throwers, and 2 Ladellers.
The monkey handler must be no older than 19 years of old.
In the case of a tie, a game of cricket will be played to decide the winner. If this game fails to produce a winner, then a goat will be sacrificed and a draw declared.


The Nameless One

Meet the People!


Intro music


Presenter enters stage right

Good evening. I’m Gerry McGiver, your host, in this, the first of an exciting new series where we meet up with some of the more prominent people living in the lovely town of Hatton, we get to chat to one of the brave lads who's tireless efforts keep us all safe in our beds at night. He’s just 17 years of age, already a hero of the ranks, and a terribly nice chap to boot!, Ladies and Gentlemen, Billy Shaw!

Billy Shaw enters stage left


Good evening Billy, and thanks for joining us this evening!

You're welcome. It's great to be here.

Now, Billy, before we go any further, tell us exactly what you do.

Of course Gerry. I'm a halberdier currently under the command of Second Sergeant Bowers of the Hatton Town Guard.


Thank you. And I'm the youngest soldier in the, er, soldiery. 


But, and I think I'm right in saying this Billy, you didn't always plan to be a soldier, did you?

No, that's right Gerry. Erm, initially I was to be apprenticed to the butchery of cows for the eating of. With a bit of monkey handling in my spare time.

So, er, what happened. In your own words.

Well, Gerry. As a youngsterling, I was one of the best practitioners in the art of “hiding”. During many games of ‘hide and go look’, I was able to secrete myself into places hitherto unknown by my seekers. I was quite well known for it. 

Go on.

Well, during one particular game, during the summer of ’56 –

That was a hot one!

Yes. Well during that summer –

10 years ago.

Yes, um, ten years ago, I was deep into the end game of a particularly tense game of ‘hide and go look’. My team were 4-1 down and I had to do something to pull things back.

Go on.

I spied a door. A door that was a jar. A door that I opened. A door to the –


A door to the –


Murmurs from the audience

To the

Go on

To the Armoury!

Audience ooohs

And then what happened?

Well Gerry. What happened next will live with me until my dying day. I saw it in the corner. A full body of armour. I put a leg in. I put another leg in. I put an arm in. I put another arm in. I was in.

In the armour?

Yes, in, as you say, the armour. Although much larger than myself, I was only seven, the suit felt tight around me, but my head was still exposed.

Er, what about your torso?

My torso? Oh, my body you mean? Oh, that got covered by the torso of the suit.

Thought so.

Anyway, my head was still exposed. And there were footsteps. In the dark.

Audience gasps

The door, which I'd closed after entering, began to open. I had to think quickly. The helmet! Of course! I grabbed it and covered my head. I was fully concealed, head to toe, including my torso.

Rapturous applause

Thank you.

Then what happened Billy. Take your time, son.

Well, we won. I scored a full ten points. We topped the league. But it would be the last game I would ever play. You see, I was trapped. Encased. Entrapped. Carapaced. I couldn't get out of the suit. This suit. The suit I am in now, and will be until the day I die.

Sobs from the audience. And a stifled giggle.

Wow. Just wow. Thank you Billy. Thank you for sharing that incredible story with us. 

And there you have it Ladies and Gentlemen! A story of the human spirit in all its dark and brooding beauty. A young boy, halted in his dream of becoming a butcherer of cows, doomed to meet his doom in a doom laden erm, er, death?


So, until next time –

Er, can you help me up?

Until next –

Excuse me? I need help out of the chair.

Next ti- oh, sorry. There you go.

Rapturous applause

Thank you. So until next time, when we’ll be meeting the another superstar of the ranks, it's goodnight from me. Goodnight!

Applause. Cheering. Screams

Outro music 




The Nameless One

The Great T War 

The question of the correct spelling of the Town of Hatton has always generated great debate amongst the great Haton scholars and common folk alike. Whether the addition of an extra t is correct or incorrect was a common argument regularly heard in “The Round Table” with things coming to a head during the Great T War of 1435.

This was a bloody war, with brother fighting against brother, father fighting against son, and second cousin twice removed fighting against third aunt thrice rejected. Many fell battling for the right to address their correspondence with, or without the t. Peace finally fell when ‘The Great Peacemaker’ Thomas a Bucket suggested a referendum to decide once and for all the correct spelling.

For 6 months both sides petitioned tirelessly on the question “Should Hatton be spelt Hatton?” with the early opinion polls suggesting a strong showing for the “Yess” campaign, ably spearheaded by Ttom Spratt and his “T is not just for drinking” sloganeering. 

On the opposite side of the argument we're the Pedanists who spent much of the campaign arguing the case on economic grounds. With less letters in the name, signage would be cheaper, and time would be saved when writing the name. 

In the end, with a record 37% turnout, the result shocked many. 100% voted to keep the second t. A landslide. Case closed. It wasn't until after the result though, that it was discovered that, with only 4 people being literate, the result was demmed null and void.

Ttired of tthe ttirade of ttownspeople ttortturing tthemselves over ttrivial matttters, the Mayor of the ttime, tthe aforementtioned Thomas a Bucket sttabbed himself in a suicidal sacrifice, sttunning the populattion, all agreeing never to menttion itt again.

What a bunch of ttwatts.

The Nameless One

The Players

“All the world's a game, And all the men and women merely playthings” Bill Spearshake, Hatton Town’s Head Scribbler.

The Players

The inhabitants of Hatton

Mayor Derik – being the Mayor of Hatton, a loose man, with a lingering foot.
Heseltine – being the manservant of the Mayor. A fool.

Archgeneral Carlton Smiles-Pomley III – being our hero. Flatulent, headgear obsessed, faller off of horse, loved by his men.
Ovaltine – being Carlton’s horse. In reality, the seven headed Tzeentch wizard Dyscalculia, Lord of All Things, Despoiler of Time, the big O. On indefinite gardening leave.

Mrs. Strawberry – being a lardy cake producer and a possible witch.
Mrs. Dawson – being a lady of Hatton. Jealous of Mrs. Strawberry’s fame and a possible witch.
The Very Reverend Barnaby – being not a real reverend.
Starkey Blueblood and his trusty companion Snake Miskins – being grave robbers, and brave lobbers. And great lovers. And late brothers.

Hatton Town CC – being the Hatton Town ‘Cannons!!’ team players. 

Hatton Town Home Guard – being the Freeguild Regiment under the command of Archgeneral Carlton Smiles-Pomley.
Billy Shaw – being 17. Encased in armour after “the best game of Hide and Go Look in the world, ever”.
‘Dead-eye Doug’ – being the Hatton Guard Handgunner Sharpshooter. Blinder than a bat.
Head Gamekeeper Jed ‘The Head’ – being a man with binoculars.
Greg and Stan – being men in the Hatton Guard.



The Nameless One

Royalty descended unexpectedly last night in one of the suburbs of our dear town when a dignitary from the Royal Household of Ghouls arrived unannounced, claiming a Place of Power resided underneath one of our signposts.(!)

Clearly mad, Archgeneral Carlton Smiles-Pomley III called on the Lower District Guard to aid him in ridding the locale of this abhorrence, which happily, they did. Whether or not their success was solely there’s, or was helped by some wizardry (and therefore violating Bye Law 33 – No Wizards) is unclear, although eye witnesses reported seeing “a ‘mystical’ enchantment holding up  a large group of ghouls from charging”, at the onset of the battle.

Whatever the case, ‘Dead-eye Doug’, the blind sharpshooter, actually hit something, taking down an albeit already wounded courtier, to much applause from his men. This was indeed a night where firepower held sway, as much of the enemy fell to both crossbow and shot. Even the town militia wounded something after throwing various kitchen implements into the air in the general direction of the barely clothed cannibals.

So, Hatton is safe once more and the duck pond can once again be dredged for dead fowl.


The Nameless One

It was a busy weekend for the Hatton Tourist Board as a record number of visitors descended on the quiet town. Visitors from all across the eight Realms came to partake of Mrs. Strawberry’s renowned lardy cakes, and the landlord of “The Round Table”, the newly refurbished and rebranded ‘Place To Be Seen Inn’, reported huge sales in his latest new ale ‘Sigmar’s Delightful’.

It wasn't all good news though, as the newly laid cricket pitch was sadly vandalised by an unknown group, which, according to the captain Reverend Barnaby, may mean the postponement of the upcoming fixture against the Residents XI. In addition, somebody (again) has graffitied Mrs. Dawson’s rear wall.

The first visitors of the day were a delegation from far off Shyish. Although they were apparently told of the local bye laws regarding Necrosphinxes, they still brought one along, which duly ran riot along the High Street, knocking over fences and Freeguild alike. The Home Guard were quickly mustered, but, after a spirited defence, where swept away by the undead, who quietly ransacked the graveyard and left. A number of cadavers are still missing, much to the chagrin of local grave robbers, Starkey Blueblood and his trusty companion Snake Miskins.

The local neighbourhood watch had just about cleaned up the city centre before the second of the days tourists arrived – a Tzeentchian battlehost hell bent on taking control of Hatton’s Watchtower. Due to some mysterious magics, the Watchtower decided to move out of its normal central position and plonked itself right on the doorstep of Mrs. Strawberry’s homestead. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she quickly reduced her prices and, were it not for the fact that Tzaangors are wheat intolerant (who knew?), she would have made a killing. Sadly, it was the visitors who did all the killing, with Archgeneral Carlton Smiles-Pomley once again falling off his horse.

Finally, it was the turn of the Ironjaws to avail themselves of Hatton’s landmarks. There was some heavy congestion on the main thoroughfare when a group of Goregruntas completely ignored the one way system (controversially introduced by the previous Major Joris Bonsun) and collided head on with Head Gamekeeper Jed ‘The Head’ and his archery club “The Poachers’ Poison”, who were hunting cabbages. Rushing to this highway confusion came the entire cavalry contingent of the Hatton Guard, who quickly cleared the speed bump and continued up the road. Meanwhile, on the other side of town, the massed ranks of the remaining units commanded by Carlton took on the Brutes and their Megaboss.

Remarkably, the Ironjaws charge faltered! The Megaboss found his mount shot from beneath him, and the day was finally won by the home team. Carlton had managed to stay on his horse! And there was much rejoicing.  


The Nameless One

Carlton Smiles-Pomley III got back on his horse, Ovaltine, for the third time. Bruised, bloodied and burdened by history, he was not in the mood for an inspection, but, as his forefathers had done umpteen times before, he knew his men expected their leader to ‘check the helmets’, as this tradition had become known amongst the free folk. Falling off his horse for the fourth time, Carlton decided enough was enough, and walked her the rest of the way to the parade ground.

The town of Hatton, nestled in a secluded corner of the county of Anglesee,  was a relatively comfortable settlement in the vastness that was the continent of Compendiumnia. Although much of this land had long felt ignored by Sigmar and his new warriors, the people of Hatton had always been faithful to their God King, and were proud of their long held traditions. Carlton too held these traditions close to his heart. He could trace his lineage all the way back to the Age of Myth, some said even before then, back when the world was smaller, and lives simpler.

The legend of the Smiles-Pomleys was, sadly, one of madness and treachery. The story told of a mad captain, fuelled by jealousy and hate, who, hungry for power and obsessed with headgear, had stolen a strange and powerful artefact – the hat of wizardry. It was this garment, many said, that had turned a meek and impotent man into a glowering, but stupid, monster. That man was named Carlton Smiles-Pomley, the first of his name.

Whatever the truth, over millennia the story took hold, not only on those who shared that name, but also on those who they commanded. Such was the power of the legend, that magic and all its mysterious mumbo jumbo was forbidden within Hatton and its environs. Never would a wizard dare to enter those town walls, nor would they be welcomed to fight alongside the noble free peoples.

Having said that, even without the age old fear of the wizard, many of noble birth chose not to fight alongside Carlton. Not only was his horsemanship challenging at best, but he had a  terrible digestive syndrome, causing flatulence that not only created a nasal disturbance to his peers, but was also so loud, that many of his orders were misheard. Numerous were the times when a call of “Archers!Loose Front and Centre !” had been misinterpreted as “Marchers! Goose! Grunt and Censor!!”. This famously came to a head during the Rout of Waywatcher Hill when the order “Send reinforcements, we’re going to advance” was reportedly misheard as “Send three and four pence, we’re going to a dance”. And so, able to make excuses, the noble elite quietly tended to their shrubberies, whilst the men went forth to war, nosegays at the ready.

Arrayed resplendent in the yellow and purple of House Smiles-Pomley, the Freeguild Regiment stood proudly for their liege lord’s inspection. Recently returned from battling the dread Tomb Kings at the Battle of Legacious Hill, the stout men wore their plumage with the pride only a man in a doublet and jerkin could understand. Their armour, not as ostentatious as their Brettonian neighbours, was more practical than emblematic, but could still withstand the choppa of an Orc.

But there would be no Orc to fight where they were going. Nay, the Greenskins that they would be facing were now named Orruk. Recently they had faced this new horror, when  they were beaten by a brutish clan of Ironjaws, far larger than even the Black Orcs that roamed the land of Compendiumnia. Even Tomb Kings were becoming scarce, and no one had seen a knight of Breton for years.

Carlton’s thoughts wandered to other changes he had witnessed during his time in charge. The Town square, now a roundabout. The ale house “The Four Corners” rebranded as “The Round Table”. Even his State Troops, notoriously difficult to teach new tricks, had renamed themselves as “Freeguild Guard”. Carlton had even been forced by the townsfolk to burn his Huey Lewis and the News vinyl collection.

But these were all details that paled into insignificance against the job in hand. The South Coast was under attack and a vast battle was expected. Carlton addressed his men. 

“We march to war! Not to battle the Beastmen, but the Brayherd! Not to smite the Dwarf, but the Duardin! Not to kill the Goblin, but the Grot! No longer can we rely on the tight formations of old! No longer can we expect to march safely past the line of sight of a nearby enemy and move out of their charge arc! The enemy has learnt to turn its head! We face a new challenge!”

“But we are men!” he continued. “We shall square up to these new horrors! We shall angle our attacks, and corner the enemy! We shall not be rounded by these usurpers! 

"What's he sayin’?” asked Greg, a Spearmen of much repute. “No idea” replied his brother in arms, Stan, “Summit about ‘shapes?”. “Oh well”, said Greg, “Come on, let’s have a quick drink before we set off. My round.”