Major’s Corner Today marks the beginning of a new summer series, Major’s Corner, by Victoria clubman Maj. (ret’d) Nigel Smythe-Brown. The series continues for the next 12 weeks. Put down your croquet mallet, pour a Pimms and prepare to be amused.
Finally … I am moving to the Sunday edition. A lucky few of you will remember my previous perch in the Monday Edition on the last page stuck between “Taxidermy: The Owl, Pt. 2” and “Midwifery: Anyone Can Do It.” This has all come about in the oddest of fashions in that I will be replacing Up Island Willy’s much-beloved column, The Many Uses of Worm Castings, after words were exchanged between Willy and the commissionaire about his parking spot. It seems our Willy took tremendous exception to having to park under a tree containing a maladroit crow, who made frequent deposits onto Willy’s car. Willy has threatened to attempt a food fast to the death but, as he weighs somewhere around 450 pounds, the Sunday editor felt this could take some time –not death but until Willy starts eating the furniture — so I have been asked to step into his rather large shoes for the summer or until the credenza is devoured. My regular readers will recall that I am a roving reporter from the Reading Room of my club (the Home of Homes), where the world drops in for a refreshing spot of something-or-other-and-soda, and a plate of our over-done roast beef and Yorkshire pud to soothe and unwind in the presence of the understanding Mems. To be fair, I also report on some of our Mems, for they are falling from their coils at a quicker pace now and I endeavour to memorialize them as best I can. For instance, a small scandal took place the other day involving our beloved Brigadier. It seems that sadly, once again, the dear old soldier has been stuffing his meds down the back of the orange chesterfield near the library and then sitting by the front doors to leer at and harass the passing female Mems. This unfortunate situation continued until a well-known large female politician arrived through those hallowed doors. This is a woman who has brought fellow travellers to tears by a mere glance. How well I recall the time she lifted, with one hand, mind, a rude executive assistant and placed him in a fruit-salad bowl at the Empress one memorable Christmas party, after he’d remarked: “It was a much larger lap than last year,” as he sat down on what appeared to be Father Christmas. The Brigadier, blinded momentarily by the sun coming through the open door, could not see the identity of the fetching vision coming into the club, for it was Prawn Monday and the now rapidly moving politico has never missed a lunch that involved a prawn. She normally proceeds smoothly to the High Table near the fireplace, where, with no words spoken, a club flunkey brings the much sought-after crustaceans. This is followed by a sort of hoovering sound of a delighted vacuum cleaner at work. Most Mems turn away, as whom amongst us has not been guilty of hurrying the meal along without the need for the usual utensils. However the currently blinking Brigadier, using his famous cane, tried to lift the passing trouser cuff for a view of “a well-turned ankle.” Now unavoidably detained on her Path to Prawndom by this “fool,” the very unamused and fiery Boadicea-like creature took the cane given to our rheumy-eyed friend by the late Queen Mary (if one looked closely one could read “From Popsy to Lambie”) and broke it, just before she kneed him hard south of his regimental belt buckle. Luckily for the gasping Brigadier, his chest had slipped to the mezzanine years before and he now wore his pinstriped trews just under his armpits and so received the tree-like knee somewhere near his sternum. No lasting damage was done except to the priceless cane originally presented to George V by a hobbled croquet pro. As the Brigadier was led away by kind hands, he called out to the now feasting Pol, “Oh, Matron, naughty Brigadier! Please, no castor oil.”
The Major will be back next week with more insider gossip from his corner of the club.
The column lasted seven years thanks to Lucinda Chodan, my first editor. Thank you L.C.
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