Uncle Stanley

  My father was known in the family as "Pop", as I am known today. But, to the outer family and many other young people, he was known as "Uncle Stanley". As I think I have mentioned in a previous blog, he had a somewhat outrageous sense of humor. He used this sense of humor particularly to amuse the children. This story is about that part of Uncle Stanley.
  The story starts when I was only four years old, so I am relying mainly on the memory of other people for this period. During the first few years I was on this planet, we went on our family summer vacation to Boscombe, on the south coast of England, near Bournemouth. We used to stay at a small hotel along the waterfront. This one year, on our first night at the hotel, my parents had put my sister and I to bed and were going to bed themselves. My mother was already in bed and my father was turning the light off at the switch by the bedroom door. Then, without warning, he yelled "yippee" and took a flying leap from the door onto the bed, which promptly collapsed as two legs of the metal frame folded up. They thus had to sleep on a bed with a 20 degree list to starboard. The next morning, after breakfast, we were ordered to leave by the management. They had heard the crash in the night. So, we spent the first day of our vacation walking the streets with our bags like a family of refugees, looking for another hotel room in this overbooked town.
  My father loved children and they loved him as he was always playing with them on the beach. On the last morning of our vacation, he apparently used to come to the beach shortly before lunch dressed in a business suit and tie, black shoes and a bowler hat. He would then walk around saying goodbye to all the kids and their parents and then walk into the sea and keep on going until his hat floated off his head and he disappeared, until he popped up somewhere else. This apparently became a ritual. Each year, the kids waited for it. This was typical of Uncle Stanley.
  Pop, as I always called him, was at his most devilish, when food was being served with guests at the house, either family or close friends. My mother was grateful at least for this last part, he normally did not behave like this when comparative strangers were eating with us.  Pop was a master at carving meat. Whatever the animal or the particular joint, he carved it beautifully. He always used to carve at the head of the table, and then the plates were passed around. Oftentimes, some people would have seconds. So, Pop would stand up and say "would you like another slice of beef, Grandma?" If Grandma said "yes", he would then carve a slice very quickly, before her plate was passed, and then he would flick the slice with the end of the carving blade so that it flew across the table onto her plate, or so he hoped. He became quite good at this and sometimes hit the target. Grandma also had a hell of a sense of humor and always laughed at his antics.
  He was at his wildest when serving desserts. If there was some sort of non solid pudding or something in a bowl, he used to love to demonstrate his prowess at spinning the bowl between his fingertps through 360 degrees vertically. My mother would try to stop him but, the more she tried, the more determined he became. He was very good at it and I can only remember one occasion when a rice pudding was spread along the length of the table. I remember one particular time when, amongst the desserts being served was a large bowl of orange jelly. He said "Who would like some jelly?" He got some replies so he then said "Well, would everyone like some jelly" He then picked up a large serving spoon and slapped it into the top of the jelly as hard as he could. The bowl disgorged its contents in all directions, so it seemed like everyone was going to get some. My mother was not at all pleased, she had not wanted any jelly. 
  My mother used to invite people to tea on Sundays. These used to be quite formal events with one or two different types of sandwich, with the crusts cut off, of course, scones with clotted cream and jam, fruit cake or rock cakes and some sort of cream cake. The tea was poured by mother out of a big silver teapot. The cups and saucers and the sandwiches were wheeled in on a tea trolley and the cakes on a portable cake stand. While all this was being brought in, Pop would get in on the act and might bring in a plate of muddy potatoes straight out of the garden and maybe a few  small lumps of coal on a plate and just put them on the trolley without saying a word, until my mother saw them. She had a lot to put up with.
  With so much food in front of them at these teas, people seemed to eat quite generously. If someone had an empty plate, Pop would frequently say "Can I pass you a scone Mrs G?" If Mrs G  said "Yes", he would say "here, catch!", then quickly throw one at her. If my mother criticized him for this behavior, he would look all hurt and sulky.
  Pop had watched some comedians remove the tablecloth from a totally set table without spilling or breaking anything. He was convinced he could do this and he explained to me how it was possible. All you had to do was give the tablecloth a sharp pull and continue the pull at the same speed until the whole cloth had cleared the table. But, he had never done it, yet.  Frequently, as we were ending a meal with guests present, he would stand up, move his chair back out of the way, grab two handfulls of tablecloth and announce that nobody should move and he was going to remove the tablecloth. Of course, all of us kids would egg him on but Mum would plead "No, Stanley, no, please no." Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, he never did it. But, it would have been interesting to see what would have happened if he had done.
  Another thing Pop used to love doing was to dress up for the kids. Sometimes, if the family was ready to go out and maybe already seated in the car, he would suddenly appear in the most ridiculous outfit. My mother would have to get out of the car and go back in the house to stop him going like that. Other times, he would appear in such an outfit just as guests were arriving for lunch. He particularly loved dressing up as a priest, by wearing a white dress shirt back to front with a dark blue sweater, also back to front. He would also part his hair in the middle. He really looked the part.
  Pop also enjoyed spinning tales with the young children. He had a set of fictitious characters around which he would spin the tales. There was Og Noble, Harry Fanackapan, Squadron Leader Farnes Barnes, Fred Bloggs, Sam Lonk and others.  I remember hearing him talking to my nephew and niece, Tim and Caroline about these characters and what they had been up to. He also used to show the children how to dig holes and then move these holes around the garden. Sometimes, I would see Pop and Tim, struggling between them to lift a very large hole out of the ground and put it into the wheelbarrow to carry it up to the house. Or, I might see all three of them walking up from the bottom of the garden with their arms outstretched as they each carried their own pretend hole. If they had too many holes, they used to lean some of them against the garage wall until they needed them. I wouldn't be at all surprised to hear that some of these spare holes are still there unless somebody else has found a use for them.
  Pop seemed to go through life without a care in the world and always was in a good mood. I know he really enjoyed life and he made life fun for all those around him. I am enraged when I think that a man who was such a pleasure to everyone should pass away in such an unfortunate and disagreeable manner. He died having become almost a vegetable for a few years after a stroke caused by being beaten and kicked by a team of burglars who broke into the family home. I think he was cheated out of an honorable end to a great life. He was, I believe, 84 years old when he left us.
 
 
 
 

Who Dropped the Lemon?

 To me, the most satisfying drink in the world is the Martini. But, on a hot day, I am also partial to the tang of a good Margarita. There is a relative newcomer in town called a Lemon Drop, and this sort of falls between the two of them. It has a wonderful caustic sharpness which seems to make the whole world pukker around you. I think it should have been called the Pukka Pounce. Here  is how you assemble a posse of them.

  INGREDIENTS
3 oz Lemonade (make sure its a good one)
1.5 oz Citrus Vodka
1/2 oz Triple Sec

  Wet the rim of a martini glass with lemon juice and dip top of glass in fine sugar. Put all ingredients into a shaker with ice and shake at least 63 times. Pour into glass.

  Cheers!!! Stand by to be pukkered.

Sarum

  Sarum is one of the earliest known settlements in England, dating back to at least 3000BC. It is about 80 miles west-south-west of London. It was originally built on the flat top of a mound on top of a hill as a fort protecting trade routes on the River Avon. Around 500BC, the fortifications were strengthened by double ditches all round. The Romans arrived about 60AD.  Around 550AD, the Saxons came and a castle was built on the hill. The Saxons were followed by the Normans and King Henry the First ordered a cathedral to be built atop the hill. In 1219AD, it was decided to move the cathedral to the base of the hill to avoid the extreme weather on the hill. A year later, the move was started block by block to the confluence of two rivers about two miles to the south. When the new cathedral was built, a lofty 400 foot  spire was added to the tower. The town built around the new cathedral was named Salisbury, the name it bears today. The settlement on the hiltop was then called Old Sarum, a name which it also bears today. Henry the Eighth eventually demolished the castle.
  In 1961AD, a 20 year young Irish girl named Alice Josephine Doran arrived in Salisbury. She was a comely wench and soon became employed as a receptionist at the White Hart Hotel near the cathedral.
  In 1962AD, a 29 year old Englishman named Stanley Anthony Smith arrived in Salisbury and sought shelter at the White Hart Hotel. He strode up to the reception desk and asked if he could have a room. "No, we're completely full" said the comely wench to the young Englishman.
  NOW, THAT REALLY PISSED ME OFF!! It is a tourist town but early April is definitely not the tourist season.
  So, I wandered across to the bar, licking my wound as I went. I ordered a pint of Worthington E, definitely the world's most immaculate beer. I asked Laurie, the lovely old barmaid, if it was normal for the hotel to be full at this time of year. "Hotel full? Nonsense! Who told you that? That young thing over there?" she exclaimed, pointing out of the rear service window, through which I could see the comely wench sitting behind the reception desk. Then she said "Don't worry, in a few minutes, she'll be going to lunch and Miss Smithers takes over. She'll find you a room" A few minutes later, the decidedly uncomely Miss Smithers did indeed give me a room.
  After I finshed work, I returned to the hotel around 5.30 and the comely wench was sitting at the reception desk. I asked her for my key and the expression on her face told a story. Now, it was somebody else's turn to be pissed off.
  Following the initial face off, I talked to the comely wench, who I by then knew answered to the name of Joy, as often as I could and we really became quite friendly. A few days later, I asked her out for a drink and we went to the Old Castle Inn, a pub across the road from the original fort at Old Sarum. While there, we got to know each other quite well but, then she said we had to drink up as she had to be back at the hotel by 10.15. I asked why and she told me her boy friend was going to call then!!! She wasn't out of ammunition yet!
  A couple of days went by and then one afternoon, we went to the beach near Bournemouth and had a nice time and then back to Salisbury to have dinner at the Haunch of Venison. It was still very nice in those days and we enjoyed ourselves. I had found a key. She liked good food and wine and nice places to eat. A few days later, we went to the Pheasant Inn at Winterslow, a glorious place to eat then. This became our favorite.  We now had achieved a truce and began dating steadily. We were married eight months later.
  Those first dinners at the Pheasant took place 49 years ago this month, but then again, that's another story.

                              The aforesaid comely wench.

Return to Pandemia

This is a time of year when various illnesses and diseases tend to reappear seemingly as if they were on command. The recurrence of such diseases has baffled experts for generations but they continue to study some of these afflictions particularly where the symptoms remain identical year after year. One such disease was first seen about 25 years ago in Seattle, WA and then began appearing in major population centers up and down the west coast. In recent years, it has spread inland and then across the whole country. This disease has been studied by medical experts and has been identified as Nordstromsalis Meavisitiae. It is exhibited as a compulsion based syndrome centered on a nervous disorder.
  This disease is almost entirely limited to occurrence in females and can be observed possibly as early as during the onset of puberty. Once it has established itself in the bloodstream, it could well last a lifetime. My own daughter has been afflicted with this disease for several years now. Currently, there is no known cure on the horizon although studies are in progress. The initial symptoms are a sudden inability to sleep more than just a few hours per night. This is quickly followed by a compulsion to visit any of the shrines where the patient comes to believe that the source of her compulsion lies. (Note that, in this thesis, I describe the person suffering from this disease as the patient even though she may, at that point, be a long way from realizing that there is, in fact, anything wrong with her at all.)
   It appears to be in these shrines that the major mental torment is created. Once this happens, there follows an urge to touch and feel everything in the shrine. This is, in turn, followed by the syndrome to "see what's available for grabs" or SWAG. This phase could take many hours since it involves various disciplines such as trying on followed by parading in front of several mirrors or maybe moving an object so that it stands alone and then viewing it from every conceivable angle. This eventually leads to the patient amassing a large collection of swag, which is then taken to the exit and assembled by the custodians of the shrine into silver-gray bags each emboldened with the name of the shrine in large letters. A collection of a dozen or so of these bags may then be taken proudly to be placed in the trunk of the car of the patient. Upon leaving the shrine, patients are believed to be overcome by a tremendous feeling of satisfaction and achievement. Alas, this feeling is later seen to be relatively short lived.
  It should be pointed out that the patient has by now probably not been home since she left at dawn. She will typically arrive home in time to prepare a late meal for her family. Such patients are usually recognizable by the fact that, on arrival home for some reason, they may back their car in toward the garage door. This, in itself, is a relatively complicated maneuver for many women but, nevertheless, where there is a will there is a way. When they carry in the first load of swag, they will leave the trunk or rear door open for subsequent unloading trips every few minutes. This process may take quite a while.
  While unloading and showing off her booty to the family, the patient may well be overcome by another compulsion to explain what each item would have cost when compared with the unlikely event that she had bought it before the current event at the shrine had started.
   Once the demonstration phase is completed, a break may be allowed for eating but, before the table is cleared, the "try on" phase will be entered. This affects not only the patient but the husband and children too, also grandma and grandpa, nobody escapes this ritual. This phase also leads to the generation of the first batch of swag to be taken back to the shrine for refund or exchange. These items are then reloaded into the silver-gray bags and taken out to the car, where the trunk is still open.
  The initial visit to the shrine is usually followed by more loss of sleep and much tossing and turning. During these gyrations, another form of compulsion occurs. This is a color comparison phase, in which the patient feels compelled to revisit the shrine to get a similar item of swag but in another color. This may be repeated for several items. Usually at this stage also, patients start comparing notes with other patients and plans are then made for one or more group visits to the shrine. This leads also to group therapy sessions, sometimes held at the local Starbucks spa and wellness center. These therapy sessions, however, may tend to spread the disease  rather than provide any form of a cure.
  One thing is known about the recurrent epidemics of this disease. That is that the overall time the epidemic lasts is limited to about two weeks or so. This is determined by the fact that the shrine will determine a few specific days during  which the main therapy sessions must be conducted. After this period, patients are on their own to arrange their therapy.
  As part of the analysis to back up the study of a cure, experts have tried to see what actual damage is caused to the patient on visits to the shrine. The major significant damage seems to be the considerable loss of dollaritic greenstuff from the primary purse. It has been proved that, under normal conditions, this loss may take many years to make up.
  However, there is some therapeutic advantage to be gained during the initial transaction by using a medium of Double Ended, Bartering Intensive Technology or DEBIT card. If, following the use of such a card, an item of swag is rejected by the recipient family, the item may be bartered back to the shrine for a limited number of days. This then makes the loss of the greenstuff temporary and will considerably shorten the make up period.
   The epidemic as it stands has not reached the level of possible pandemic proportions as predicted by some.  Also, no known cases of this disease have been reported outside of the United States. But, the epidemic continues to spread regardless. 
   Clearly, some of the more severe critics see this whole scenario as a rucking tipoff (as defined in the phraseology of Anglo Saxon rhyming slang.)  Others are more lenient and view it as a modern form of blood letting as was exercised by Egyptian doctors around 1000BC. Whether either of these views is accurate or not is unclear but, what is clear is that this mysterious affliction will be with us for a long time regardless of whatever modern medicine may achieve in seeking a cure.

Me and David

  Freddie and Stanley Smith were brothers born at the tail end of the nineteenth century. They also had another brother who was killed in the British Army in World War 1. The two remaining brothers were very close and each had an identical, somewhat outrageous sense of humor.

  Freddie had three sons, Peter, Derek, then a gap, then David. Of the two elder sons, Peter was a little more serious but they each had an identical, somewhat outrageous sense of humor. Unfortunately. both Peter and Derek were killed in World War 2, Peter in the Royal Air Force, Derek in the Royal Navy.

  Stanley had a daughter, Barbara, then a gap, then me. Barbara
 lives in England. She has a very keen sense of humor, sometimes somewhat outrageous. 
  David is a few months younger than me. Strangely enough, we each have an identical, somewhat outrageous sense of humor. We have always been great friends. This story is about a part of that friendship....the friendship of me and David.

  Unfortunately, for much of our lives, David and I have lived far apart. At the present time, he lives in northern Scotland and I live in California. But, we talk to each other every few weeks. As I have said above, we each seem to have an identical sense of humor.  One thing is certain. Over the last seventy years or so, whenever we are together, someone is in trouble.
  My first recollection of the two of us getting into trouble was in 1939, so we were sevenish. Our two families were on holiday together at Trimingham, on the east coast of England. We were staying at a private hotel which I believe was called "Highlawns". The hotel probably had about 30 to 40 guests and was situated in very nice grounds with lawns and a tennis court. It was a short walk from a beautiful beach down a narrow path. We had a very good time there and it was on this holiday that I learned to swim.
  On the lawn behind the hotel was a large summer house, a wood and glass structure. It had a main room with chairs, a table and a couch. In front of the double doors was a sizable covered porch. The whole thing was mounted on what looked like a miniature, circular railroad track, and it ran on this track on many small wheels. Thus, it could be rotated to face or avoid the sun. It ran on the track so smoothly that even two small, seven year old boys could push it around. Herein lay the problem. David and I had already been balled out by the hotel manager for pushing it.  Despite this, one day, we decided to get it going. Some of the hotel guests were seated on the lawn when we got it moving and several of them began to laugh. Hearing the laughter, we pushed even harder and we had it going at quite a clip before we realized that the hotel chef, Big Fat Lucy we had christened her, had been taking a nap inside when the rotation started. Now, she was trying to get her bulky frame upright and out of the door so she could call for help from her rotating cocoon. At this point, the hotel manager came rushing out, screaming at us to stop it. But, there was no way two small, seven year olds were going to stop this juggernaut. It was running so smoothly, it looked to us like it would run for hours. Then, the manager saw Lucy inside and I'll swear a smile crossed her face. Some of the guests stopped it and a very giddy Lucy came out ready to kill us. But, we were no longer in evidence. As far as I can remember, David and I were sent to bed right after tea.

  It was a beautiful sunny, summer day in England, they do happen occasionally. Eight or so adults are seated at tea on one of the terraced lawns in front of 25 Green Lane, Northwood, where David lived. David and I, the two 8 or 9 year olds, had finished our tea and had been excused. We had therefore disappeared. Some time later, the two young boys are seen struggling across the garden, carrying between them a large green painted object. As they come past the tea table, it can be seen that the large object is, in fact, one of the shed doors. Nobody said a word as the two boys struggled on, looking neither left nor right as they carried their load around the end of the house and out of sight. David and I then put the door down and congratulated each other on a job well done. But, we could not work out why nobody had said anything. We had imagined it would be treated with both  anger and amusement, but nothing ........??  It turned out a long time later that they were all at bursting point, trying not to laugh and therefore encourage us to do more. Why had we taken the door off? Who knows?  But, at that age, reasons are irrelevant. The explanation probably was that, while playing in the shed, we came across a screwdriver and a step ladder and we wanted to put them to good use. So, we unscrewed the door from its hinges. Logical enough.  

  I think I was about 9 or 10 when Auntie Ida and David came to tea one day. At tea, the two mothers were discussing the property behind our house. It had been a beautiful private golf course but, during the war, had been put to agricultural use and now cows grazed upon it. They commented that what had once been a picturesque tee just beyond our fence was now covered in "cow pancakes".
  "No, no" said David "those aren't pancakes, that's SHIT". He pronounced the last word loudly so that it sounded like some literary gem.
  Auntie Ida looked horrified while my mother's face took on an almost smug look, obviously thankful that her precious son had not uttered this obscenity.
  "David, how dare you talk like that" she exclaimed "where did you learn that word?" David flicked his thumb in my direction and said "he told me".
  The two mothers interchanged expressions, I believe my mother wished she could dissolve into the upholstery. 
  As soon as they left, I was put to bed. "Your father is going to hear about this".
  It was many years later before I found out that the grown ups had a lot of laughter over this incident.

  Page forward sixty or so years.

  A few years ago, David and his wife Betty were visiting from Scotland and were staying with their son Adrian and his wife Debs who live in Bellevue, WA. They were all staying for the weekend in a village of beachside houses and cabins near Eastsound on Orcas Island when Joy and I went to see them. 
  David and I had a standard method of greeting for many years when we had not seen each other for a while. That is, we march toward each other at a fast pace and in step. When about five feet apart, we snap to a halt and salute........  Hup - 2 - 3 -4 - 5 - Down. Precision is of the essence. We did just that on the day on Orcas. Then, while the two wives sat and talked, David and I walked along the beach and through the village for an hour or so, talking and doing our usual thing. Quite what our usual thing was that day I cannot remember, but we did it anyway. 
  We were told later that two ladies had reported to the office that they had seen two gentlemen behaving strangely in the village. When we heard this, we realized that the two ladies were obviously mistaken. What they had seen was not two gentlemen behaving strangely but two Brits behaving normally. An understandable mistake. 
  
  More than sixty years of friendship lie between the antics of the mischievous seven year olds  and the strange behavior of the seventy year olds. In the intervening years are a myriad of other stories and many more not remembered. Most of them are not easily relatable, as are the tales of juvenile mischief, and some are often just remarks or quips made at the time. But all are products of two lifelong friends, each with an identical, somewhat outrageous sense of humor. I know I am selfish to say this but, in my own mind, I really hope that there will be quite a few more years to the story of me and David.                  
 

"Two gentlemen behaving strangely??"