The people of Gillyhead were a kind and hospitable folk, yet they lived in fear.
They decided to take turns acting as lookout. One villager would take up their place each night, in the crosswalk near the pub, so that ample warning could be given. When the signal was given the villagers would quickly whelve a tankard or goblet over any lit candle to try and avoid playing unsuspecting host to an uninvited guest.
Alfie, you see, was a fine fellow. It just so happened, they discovered, that after he imbibed in many an ale at the pub he considered himself a superb singer and as such he felt it an act of generosity to serenade the other patrons there. An act that caused many a raised eyebrow to be certain; one bloke described his signing as a toddler playing bagpipes while another said it was what they imagined the first person to stick their hand in a fire sounded like. But what happens at the pub can be tolerated, laughed over and forgiven. But the rub was that Alfie didn’t know when to stop.
He baltered from the pub, crooning and warbling through the village stopping at any house along his way home that happened to have a light burning.