Sentence The Fourhundredandeighth

Seismologists' warnings had reached the team working on the probable entrance to the Cavern in The Eildon Hills and they had descended to the lower slopes well before the eruption – there were mighty rumblings in the depths, quite audible over a wide area: but Emergencies Planning Officers from Scottish Borders Council had already put their procedures into operation and a wide area had been cordoned off, with Police cars having closed all approach roads; the entire population of the town had already been evacuated to beyond that cordon and were now the guests of friends, relations and strangers in Tweedbank, Bowden, Newtown and St Boswells, Gattonside, Gala, Earlston, Selkirk and Ancrum – although there had been grumblings in 'Nittin' to the effect that they “wiz nae further awa than 'Rose, so hoo in the name o the wee maun hidnae oo bin vacuated tae?” but in the event, although there had been a lot of noise, and plenty of smoke, there seemed to have been no volcanic

ash, boulders or lava flows; true, a number of new (and unmissable) holes had appeared on the lush fairways and greens of the Golf Club; the last man out from the visiting team playing at the Cricket Club complained bitterly that he had been stitched up and put off by the sight of the smoke and flames pouring from the top of the hills, but as Umpire, Mr Ernie Wise, pointed out: “less'n he's got

een in the back o thon piss-pot o a heid, he couldna hae seen it, sae 'Oot, an nae challenge,' ah sed thon then an ah staun bi it noo!” but it was Wee Fred Merry, bat still smeared with pussy's succus under his arm, stained red from the blood of Big Bob Cherry's poor dead cat, who was actually the

first to see them, pouring out from the very mouth of the volcano, black silhouettes against the aureate sky fanning across the hillside, swiftly running at a crouch from one thicket of broom to another, “a kind of ziggyzaggy run,” as he said on Reporting Scotland on BBC1 that evening, “as if

they wiz feart o sumdy or sumpn, but maun, they wiz armed tae the teeth an me wi only a cricket bat!” so the intrepid reporter had asked him what had he done then? and after a little fard from the make-up girl, a smidgeon of smoky grey to his forehead, a slight flush of red scorch marks to his cheeks, all in the name of verisimilitude, the Hero of the Hour replied: “whit could ah dae? ah flung it

at them, hit yin o them richt on 'is muckle schnozzle and took tae ma heels and ran aw the wey doon the hill and didnae stoap till ah got in the The Salmon!” and the reporter asked, “what happened after that?” to which the canny hero, with his natural modesty replied, “ah canny richt mind whit happened efter thon – ah wiz the only yin in the Pub mind, even Rusty Nails hud bin spirited awa' so ah jist helped masel!” and promptly fell over!