Open Writing

Participating in a book drive for the War Effort in 1944, I was given a book from the house in Greenhead Road immediately uphill from the dairy. The book was "Bertie’s Birthday Present," subtitled, ‘Patience is rewarded.’

The slim volume was an improving tale about Bertie, a lad whose birthday presents included a curious box not much larger than a matchbox in which he found, to his dismay, a clutch of tiny hairy worms.

Bertie, the scion of wealthy and socially elevated parents, was used to more noble and valuable gifts, and balked at the box of grubs, certain that a grievous mistake had been made by the uncle over whose name the gift was sent.

"Worms!" he cried, ready to blubber. "Worms! What good are worms?"

His parents intervened before the distraught youngster could injure himself in a tantrum and relieved him of the gift before he could dash it down onto the floor in unruly anger and opened the letter that accompanied the curiosity.

Bertie’s mother read the communication through and then sat the boy on an upright chair, urging him to listen as she read the letter to him.

"This explains everything," she said, calmly.

Bertie was in no mood to be calmed. He knew a worm when he saw one and he felt cheated because Uncle Silas was a wealthy merchant with business in China, and ships, warehouses, a large house in Town, and a mansion in the country. He had many servants, fine horses and carriages, and even had carriage that didn’t need horses to pull it around. And he had sent him a box of worms!

From which, gentle reader, you will have judged that Bertie has little control over his feelings, and allows himself to express them volubly and with no curtailment of his intemperate passions regardless of the time, the place, the occasion, or in whose company he was.

His father moved to the side of the chair, placed a firm hand on Bertie’s shoulder and said, "Look here, old boy, you know Uncle Silas is a generous soul and has always treated you well. Therefore, whatever it is that he has given you will be agreeable and should be received with gratitude."

Bertie didn’t see it that way. He had hoped to get a chemistry set from his uncle. Uncle Silas knew of Bertie’s interest in science and the natural world, and although Silas had not promised to send him one they had talked such things when Silas had last visited.

"Worms," declared Bertie, petulantly, "are far from agreeable!"

"Listen, dearest" said Bertie’s mother, smoothing the silk of her dress across her lap as she took a seat next to Bertie. "Uncle Silas writes that although the gift seems odd…" Bertie snorted, rudely.

His mother, ignoring the snort, continued, "… although the gift seems odd, there can be unseen treasures in things that we believe show no promise of reward. Therefore, dear nephew, nurture these little grubs according to the instructions enclosed, and your patience will be rewarded. Affectionately, Uncle Silas."

Bertie pouted as mother folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. "There, Bertie, do as Uncle Silas bids you do and see what happens."

She said this in a tone that told the boy that he was expected to be obedient and not to complain further.

His father, squeezing his shoulder, said, "That’s it, Bertie boy, be a good lad and do as Mother says."

The interview was over, the auguste parents withdrew, Bertie knew he must not only keep his rash feelings to himself, but must also do with the quaint donation as he was instructed.

Bertie hadn’t won the battle of will, which was fortunate for him. Instead, he mutely and with displeasure yielded to the counsel of his wiser parents, and buckled down to comply with to the particularised instructions of his, no longer favourite, Uncle Silas.

Over the following months, Bertie observed some remarkable changes in the hairy grubs as they grew larger and more voracious. In addition, he grew to like them, and no longer thought of them as boring worms, but as grubs that would develop into moths through the elaborate life cycle of the moth, bombyx mori.

He recorded their progress in his botany notebook, noting that as the grubs grew they shed their outer skins five times in successive stages, the first time the hairs shed with the moult and did not grow again.
In time, he was enthralled to see the grubs spin themselves into cocoons, each little animal reaching the size of his thumb, and he eventually ascertained that his Uncle had sent him a colony of wonderful silkworms!

He searched through the books in his father’s library to discover all he could about silkworms. The more he learned about these marvels of nature the more excited and enthralled he became. No laboratory could have given him more pleasure as he unravelled the mysteries of the lives of these little creatures that start out as tiny eggs no larger than a full stop.

He was fascinated to learn that each of the cocoons held a mile of tough silk thread, and was at length satisfied that Uncle Silas’ surprise gift had enriched his life, and recognised that the unfolding of the extraordinary offering had taught him the value of patience.
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Inn the sixty-odd years since I read Bertie’s story, I have often had occasion to recall it and apply its lesson to life, always with advantage. It came again to mind when my friend Deborah McGrorty Doherty told me about her father, Joseph McGrorty, now just a couple of months short of his ninety-first birthday. Joseph was a former professional trumpet player in bands at Blackpool’s North Pier, Winter Gardens, Opera House, and Tower Circus through the nineteen-fifties and sixties.

All the comedy greats appeared at Blackpool North Pier during summer seasons, and it was, says Debbie, the place to be for variety stars before television comedy took off. One of the regular comic stars at Blackpool was the great Tommy Cooper, and Joseph played for him so often that they became good friends.

Joe, as he was known in the business, went into a bar with Tommy one night, and the manager of the North Pier saw them, and so went over to welcome Tommy to the Pier for the season.

Joe recounts that when the manager reached them, Tommy reached into his pocket, took something out, and slipped it into the manager’s jacket pocket saying, "Here’s a drink for later."

The manager, delighted at Tommy’s generosity, thanked him profusely, and, noting that Tommy’s gift rustled as it went in his pocket, thought to himself, "Wow! That will buy a bottle of bubbly later!"

After the show had ended, he went to buy his bottle of bubbly. He put his hand into his pocket, pulled out Tommy Cooper’s gift, and found to his mortification that it was a TEABAG!
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Bertie saw dross and found it gold. The North Pier manager saw gold and found it dross. Yet, who can doubt that each of subjects was a winner? We can not believe otherwise, unless Eileen Elias Freeman did not speak the truth when she wrote, "It isn't the size of the gift that matters, but the size of the heart that gives it!"

Concerning which we might reflect that the size of the heart that receives it also contributes to its value.

Each recipient found something that was much more than what he, at first, saw. In Bertie’s case, the true nature of Uncle Silas’ gift became more evident with the passing of time.

In the manager’s case, the same thing happened, when he eventually recognised the precious gift of laughter in Tommy’s tea bag.

The best gifts have hidden treasures that only become evident when we view them with love in our hearts, and do not count their costs as an indication of the value of what lies before our eyes at the unwrapping thereof, but exercise patience, forbearance, and gentle consideration of what we really hold in out hands.

Copyright © 2010 – Ronnie Bray