The Major’s Corner…Cheer-up.

I know that I have written on this subject before as I want none of my loyal readers to think that their Major has lost the plot as it were, but we must begin to cheer up and put a little jump into our step. We have become I am afraid too dependent on the great nanny of government rather than the loving arms of our families which are after all designed to nurture and forgive us all our trespasses etc.
I am jumping around a bit I know but can one imagine living in London during the 17th century where one got a ringside seat to the bloodiest civil war in English history, followed by regicide, “warts and all” Cromwell, and 10 years of the depressing commonwealth. However that century was just warming up for it was visited no fewer than five times by our friend, the Black Death . 7000 London fatalities a week in 1665 with many unfortunates being boarded up alive in their hovels to stop the spread of the rat flea named Xenopsylla Cheopis.
Then the great fire starting in Pudding Lane at 2 am September 2nd 1666 after an extremely hot and dry summer. When the Mayor Sir Thomas Bloodworth was roused from his sleep he was said to have uttered “Pish-Tosh” and returned to his bed. That was unfortunate as the fire burned for three days with 13,000 houses and over 80 churches consumed with 100,000 made homeless.
We had our own Great Fire a few years ago at the club when our dear pastry gnostic Mrs. Qwakenbush took a rare leave of absence with the upshot that the dreaded Mr. Mackintosh of the front desk stood in for her. The result of which produced two wedding cakes that tasted not unlike a moist asbestos which led to the early breakdown of both marriages. The apogee was reached when the blind admiral insisted that his out of town guests be served the club’s rightly famous Butter-Tarts. With the B-T genius Mrs. Qwakenbush not yet returned form her fretting mother’s bedside the fearless Mr. Mackintosh felt that his hour of triumph had arrived and set about trying to read her scribbled recipe which began with something about scorched sugar. Mr. M never a man to waste time chose a nearby blowtorch to begin scorching. Unfortunately beside him stood Napier the fish chef now fully engaged with pouring brandy into the mouth of a large but reluctant salmon. You would recognize Napier today as the cook without eyebrows, for the blowtorch lit the sugar on fire which then ran up Napier’s trouser leg and blew the invertebrate asunder. Sadly for the now clean-shaven fish chef he had earlier spilled brandy on his hair in his effort to open the old bottle and he stood alight as an early martyr might have looked. The admiral’s savoury-deprived guests ran for their lives before the fire brigade arrived to save the day but not the savoury.
We at the club study these things as we feel history holds the clues to our survival today and the many new inventions to ease us through these hard times. One mem thought that the discovery of elastic allowed Mrs.ffrangington-Davis to appear in public without frightening the horses as it were, but he was shouted down as unkind and petty to say the least.
I ran into some old friends the other day, a couple with large pensions to see them through their retirement. The fellow buttonholed me and said something along the lines of it was simply too much to bear that he and his Cynthia have had to cancel their holidays to the South Seas because of these troubled economic times. Well I tried not to spray water on their obvious outrage but if that is the most one has to give up then “Hard Cheese” and I said it with some feeling. Buck up everyone and just remember the Black Death.
Copyright Christopher Dalton 2016.