I decided to watch The Gallows Pole because I saw a clip on Facebook that made me laugh. I couldn't quite work out why it was funny – really, it was just the maid from Downton saying ‘Abe’ a lot. But something about it tickled me and I resolved to see more. Then I learned that it was made by Shane Meadows, who I’m a bit wary of. Isn’t he all about skinheads and fighting? I’ve never watched This is England because I worried the combination of bleakness and violence wouldn’t make for a particularly enjoyable viewing experience. Add a pinch of Ye Olden Days grimness to that and surely it would be about as much fun as a dose of the pox. But I gave it a go because I’m not yet ready to be disappointed by the latest series of And Just Like That – period drama of a different kind.

The Gallows Pole is based on the book by Benjamin Myers, which in turn is based on the true story of the Cragg Vale Coiners of 18th Century Yorkshire. They were a band of counterfeiters who flooded the market with fake coins and nearly crashed the Georgian economy. Again, I find this funny and can’t work out why. It’s probably very serious and bad, but there’s something a bit Monty Python about it. Shane Meadows obviously thinks so too, because there’s definitely shades of ‘Bwyan’ in this charming, original series.

The intriguing way he approaches period drama is to have his cast speak normally. Of course, that’s his approach to drama generally, but there’s something quite unusual about making 18th century characters speak that way - entirely naturalistic, conversational, semi-improvised dialogue. It’s occasionally anachronistic – I caught a few ‘Okays’ which I suppose weren’t very authentic, but in general, it’s not that they’re saying anything particularly un-Georgian, it’s just that they’re saying it so matter-of-factly; so humanly. And it made me wonder why we accept the stilted conversation we’re usually treated to in this genre. Did anyone really speak like that back then? Like a Shakespearean messenger announcing the King is dead, with the accompanying thespian flourish? I reckon people kicked back and chatted pretty casually in olden times, really, so it’s nice to see them doing that here.

The head of the Cragg Vale gang is David Hartley, recently returned home from Birmingham having done various naughty things there, including stabbing a man to death. He brings with him a mysterious bag, and a mysterious entourage of men with stag heads. While the bag is real, the stag men are not – they’re some sort of vision David’s having, maybe because he’s mortally wounded, or maybe because it’s time he got a bollocking for all the nasty stuff he’s been up to. The stag men should be scary, but they aren’t, firstly because David’s not scared, and secondly because they speak like he does – deadpan, northern, occasionally veering from portentous language to everyday parlance, either to clarify a cryptic pronouncement or simply to call David a ‘lazy bastard’.

David’s home village is on its knees, their once-thriving weaving industry laid low by the industrial revolution, greedy fat cats and migration to nearby Halifax. Everyone is poor and hungry. Thanks to the stag men, David experiences a renaissance of body and mind, deciding to use his powers (and the contents of his bag) for good. He gathers his fellow villagers to rouse them to join him in a revolution of their own. But they’re understandably miffed that he fucked off for seven years, only to return with this far-fetched notion of Northern theriocephaly – no one is impressed by his stag men story. His former amour, Grace, is particularly pissed off, and Grace is not one to mince her words. David gets them back on side by showing off his ‘clipping’ skills – shaving the edges of guineas, melting down the gold and creating a new coin out of the cuttings. Everyone’s on board for Operation Counterfeit – but no one has any gold coins to make new gold coins out of. Cue an audacious and frankly absurd plot to steal the evil clothier’s treasure chest and… well, I don’t want to ruin it for you. It’s all pretty stupid, tbh. But fun. It’s got that Bridgerton throwing the bathwater out vibe – not too heavy on the history, just take what you need and lose the rest. Obviously, any Bridgerton similarities end there.

Meadows recycles a lot of his This is England cast, along with various additions, and they’re all excellent – forthright, laconic, enjoyably naturalistic. It’s also warm and joyous – for all the villagers’ lack of sentiment, the community is close, fiercely loyal, and – when they get a few pints in – uproarious. You just want to hang out with them all, be in their gang, particularly if they’re going to start coining it. It’s a victimless crime, after all, isn’t it? No harm done. Meadows has indicated that his story is more of a prequel to the book – the Clippers are just getting going in this series, and we leave them with their counterfeit gig up and running, enjoying the initial spoils.

I have a few criticisms, and the ending is one. They’re just getting started, and I wanted more. It felt like it was too easy, and I wanted a sense of how it all pans out. The title is a giveaway in that regard – I wanted a bit more foreshadowing, a bit more flesh on those bones. Sometimes the story felt thin, with scenes drawn out rather indulgently – there’s a money handover scene, for example, where it feels like the loaded carriage is plodding over the moors for about a century. Gerronwi’it, lads! Or we’ll be into the digital revolution and you’ll be trying to fake bitcoin.

But on another level, I’d be happy with a sitcom set in Barb’s, the village pub, with them all just having a natter and setting the world to rights. In each episode, one of David’s fake guineas would end up in an interesting place, and hilarity would ensue. Probably a fight too. The sitcom trap would endlessly defer David’s fate, though of course the gallows would always loom. We could call it This is Yorkshire (1766). Shane, if you’re reading, would you please oblige me in this matter. Or, to put it in the language of The ‘Pole: do us a favour, love, and gerrit made.

• The Gallows Pole – three episodes, iPlayer