Sea FM 93.1 Bundaberg

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It was only eight months ago. Surely you remember if it was that girl or not. Thank you. Corn rigs and barley rigs And corn rigs are bonnie I’ll not forget that happy night Among the rigs with Annie Take the flame inside you burn and burn below Fire seed and fire feed and make the baby grow Take the flame inside you Burn and burn belay Fire seed and fire feed and make the baby stay Take the flame inside you burn and burn belong Fire seed and fire feed and make the baby strong Take the flame inside you burn and burn belie Fire seed and fire feed and make the baby cry Take the flame inside you burn and burn begin Fire seed and fire feed and make the baby king His lordship is expecting you, sir. Expecting me? That’s what his lordship told me, sir. Would you please come this way? In there, sir. Good afternoon, Sergeant Howie. I trust the sight of the young people refreshes you. No, sir, it does not refresh me. Oh, I’m sorry. One should always be open to the regenerative influences. I understand you’re looking for a missing girl. I’ve found her. Splendid. In her grave. Your lordship is a justice of the peace. I need your permission to exhume her body, have it transported to the mainland for a pathologist’s report. You suspect foul play? I suspect murder and conspiracy to murder. In that case, you must go ahead. Your lordship seems strangely unconcerned. I’m confident your suspicions are wrong, Sergeant. We don’t commit murder up here. We’re a deeply religious people. Religious! With ruined churches, no ministers, no priests and children dancing naked. They do love their divinity lessons. But they-they are-are naked. Naturally. It’s much too dangerous to jump through the fire with your clothes on. What-what religion can-can-can they possibly be learning j jumping over bonfires? Parthenogenesis. What? Literally, as Miss Rose would doubtless say in her iduous way, reproduction without ual union. Oh, what is all this? I mean, you-you-you’ve got fake-fake-fake biology, fake religion. Sir, have these children never heard of Jesus? Himself the son of a virgin, impregnated, I believe, by a ghost. Do sit down, Sergeant. Shocks are so much better absorbed with the knees bent. Please. Now, those children out there, they’re jumping through the flames in the hope that the god of fire will make them fruitful. Really, you can hardly blame them. After all, what girl would not prefer the child of a god to that of some acne-scarred artisan? And you, you encourage them in this? Actively. It’s most important that each new generation born on Summerisle be made aware that here the old gods aren’t dead. But what of the true god to whose glory churches and monasteries have been built on these islands for generations past? Now sir, what of him? He’s dead. He can’t complain. He had his chance, and in the modern parlance, he blew it. What? It’s very simple. Let me show you. In the last century, the islanders were starving. Like our neighbors today, they were scratching a bare subsistence from sheep and sea. Then in , my grandfather bought this barren island and began to change things.

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