Open Writing

In quiet moments flashes of old poems whose texts are mostly lost to mankind come into my mind and render amusement for a brief interlude. One such is "Saying, Not Meaning" by William Basil Wake.

Two gentlemen their appetite had fed,
When opening his toothpick-case, one said,
"It was not until lately that I knew
That anchovies on terra firma grew.

"Grow!" cried the other, "yes, they GROW, indeed,
Like other fish, but not upon the land;
You might as well say grapes grow on a reed,
Or in the Strand!"

"Why, sir," returned the irritated other,
"My brother,
When at Calcutta
Beheld them bona fide growing;
He wouldn't utter
A lie for love or money, sir; so in
This matter you are thoroughly mistaken."
"Nonsense, sir! nonsense! I can give no credit
To the assertion--none e'er saw or read it;
Your brother, like his evidence, should be shaken."

"Be shaken, sir! let me observe, you are
Perverse--in short--"
"Sir," said the other, sucking his cigar,
And then his port--
"If you will say impossibles are true,
You may affirm just any thing you please--
That swans are quadrupeds, and lions blue,
And elephants inhabit Stilton cheese!
Only you must not, FORCE me to believe
What's propagated merely to deceive."

"Then you force me to say, sir, you're a fool,"
Return'd the bragger.
Language like this no man can suffer cool:
It made the listener stagger;
So, thunder-stricken, he at once replied,
"The traveller LIED
Who had the impudence to tell it you;"
"Zounds! then d'ye mean to swear before my face
That anchovies DON'T grow like cloves and mace?"
"I DO!"

Disputants often after hot debates
Leave the contention as they found it--bone,
And take to duelling or thumping tetes;
Thinking by strength of artery to atone
For strength of argument; and he who winces
From force of words, with force of arms convinces!

With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint,
Seconds, and smelling-bottles, and foreboding,
Our friends advanced; and now portentous loading
(Their hearts already loaded) serv'd to show
It might be better they shook hands--but no;
When each opines himself, though frighten'd, right
Each is, in courtesy, oblig'd to fight!

And they DID fight: from six full measured paces
The unbeliever pulled his trigger first;
And fearing, from the braggart's ugly faces,
The whizzing lead had whizz'd its very worst,
Ran up, and with a DUELISTIC fear
(His ire evanishing like morning vapours),
Found him possess'd of one remaining ear,
Who in a manner sudden and uncouth,
Had given, not lent, the other ear to truth;
For while the surgeon was applying lint,
He, wriggling, cried--"The deuce is in't--Sir!
I MEANT--CAPERS!"

Another intrepid but argumentative fellow worked at the Blackwood Shadwell Housing development in the hinterlands of Leeds during the time I was employed as a general carry-all and whipping boy. One lunchtime he had the canteen hut in an uproar because he insisted that one of the Ink Spots had a fish and chip shop at Wakefield.

He could not be dissuaded from his position, even though longtime Wakefield’s knew nothing about a famous black American recording artist pinning on an apron and dipping fillets in batter before frying them to a turn, and adding those delicious English chips to a bag of newspaper to be consumed on the long walk home from the evenings extramural entertainment. Musing aside on this occasion, it occurred to the less domesticated of our number to suggest that if pubs sold fish and chips there would never be any need to go home! Several faces nodded their agreement. However, that was beside the point. Such a thing was never known in Wakefield and several from that quarter made it plain that it was so. Yet some people cling stubbornly to their ‘facts’ even when they are wrong, and so did this chap.

As he picked up his now empty Tupperware lunch boxes, stuffed them unceremoniously back into his haversack, reiterated his conviction that "One of t’ Think Spots did ‘ave a chip ‘ole i’ Weikfeld," and muttered off outside to sit in the dirt and eat worms. He was wrong, of course, but he didn’t let a little thing like facts get in the way of his opinion.

A current case in the USA sounds a further warning bell to those who act precipitously before checking their facts. This tragic case involves a man, an only son, who murdered his father so that his father’s wealth would fall into his greedy and impatient hands, thereafter permitting him to live out the rest of his days like a king in a castle with servants running after him, his own security men guarding him, and a staff of housekeepers, cooks, and butlers.

He got some of what he wanted, but not everything. He does live in a fortress, and although he has no servants as such, he is surrounded by security men watching out for his well-being, and all his meals are prepared and served by household staff. However, due to one of those quirks of fate and folly his castle is a maximum security prison, his keepers are prison officers, and the cooks and cleaners are from the ranks of his peers in crime.

Not only was he caught for the murder, but when the will was read it was discovered that his father had a sound sense of the character of his scion and had cut him off without so much as a farthing. Despite his daydreams of the high life, he will never have his place in the sun, he will never be free again, and he won’t get any special treatment on the grounds that he is an orphan. Someone ought to have taught him to check his facts before he engaged in precipitous misdeeds. There is a lesson in there for all of us.

© 2006 Ronnie Bray

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Other stories at:
http://www.2theheart.com/author_ronnie_bray
http://www.meridianmagazine.com/voices/011024summer.html