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I recall from my Shakespeare at school these words from Hamlet when Polonius says farewell to his son: “To thine own self be true.” Perhaps one of William’s most famous lines; however I was reminded the other day that the second part of the goodbye is equally important but not as well remembered. It goes “And it must then follow, as the night the day, thou canst not be false to any man.”
The Brigadier too must have forgotten the last bit, for he exaggerates every story he tells so that none is really the truth. For example, the other day he observed Mrs. ffrangington-Davis giving club president General Baron de Boeuf a warm handshake and a buss on his cheek at the front desk. This he immediately interpreted as a lusty affair of the heart, so much so that he could be heard over the very fine club soup (ham and pea) suggesting that the matron is just this side of a slut. I mean to say!
The old soldier has done this before, so we go to great pains to make sure we have all the facts when telling him any news at all. But it appears to be useless. Not long ago one of us mentioned that the blind admiral was having trouble raising money for his favourite charity, a fund to lower the average weight of Canadian sailors from a nasty 300 pounds to a more healthy 190. The idiot Brigadier raced off to tell everyone else in the club that the blind admiral was flat broke and we should leave donations at the reception. The man is truly a menace.
These situations always remind me that our dear club is a microcosm of the world at large. The other day I was speaking to one of the inner circle of government who told me entre nous there had been a bit of a set-to at the UN when someone pointed out after a three-drink lunch that the rather overweight ambassador of “an emerging nation” in the midst of starvation, did not look like he had missed many meals. All hell broke loose because of it.
Of course when they got to the bottom of it, it turned out that the drunk was referring to the French ambassador, who had just finished his fourth croissant, and not the dictator’s large friend. These things happen, of course, but one of these fellows might have their finger on the big red button, which is not good after an alcohol-fuelled meal. I mean, fare thee well and all that.
Misunderstandings have hurt me personally down through the ages. I remember when I was a youth, trying to teach a delicious-looking girl how to waterski. Because of the noise of the motor and my excitement at being in such close quarters with my fantasy girl, I did not hear her say, “Don’t hold my bathing suit, you nitwit.” Rather it sounded to me like, ”Hold my bathing suit, darling.” It ended badly as a naked girl shot out of the water with me holding her torn suit. In a hopeless attempt to dissuade the furious father from throttling me, I shouted helpfully at the nude daughter: “I found it.”
People are always getting the wrong end of the stick. A great great uncle of mine (Norbert), during the battle that included the Charge of the Light Brigade, said in a quite innocent way, “I wonder what is over there?” Somehow everyone thought it was an order, and charged.
His pal the late Captain Nolan took the blame, while Uncle Norbert kept very quiet about the whole unfortunate mess.
I once had a friend who was attending a wedding with a fierce head cold. The minister came to the part where he is required to ask the assembled throng if anyone knows of any impediment to the marriage taking place. Just then my friend Horace sneezed, but instead of the tried and true “Achoo,” because of his cold, it sounded more along the lines of “I do.”
Pandemonium broke out with the organist somehow the one receiving a black eye and the father of the bride a serious groin injury. All very unfortunate.
But you see what I mean, be careful to be clear or you could be in the stew.
Copyright Major’s Corner 2015
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