Random reminder

Press, 26 November 1982, Page 27

Random reminder

BREAK-UP Time, thankfully, often dulls the enthusiastic reminiscences of returned overseas travellers. Friends and relations can eventually relax without being bombarded with “When I was in Paris..

. Oh! When we went to Vienna . . . (Madrid, London, Venice? ... you name it), and much more of the same feverish intention to acquaint all and sundry with just what happened in those far off places. Interesting at first hearing.but, inevitably, palling with repetition. One Cantabrian couple will still trot out a particular anecdote for the occasional airing. It happened that they were nearing the end of a lengthy European tour when their coach drew to a halt in a small French town. .The next stop would see the load of tourists go their various ways with the majority taking passage for England. So it was time for farewell speeches, laudatory comments on each other and on the trip in general. Time too for’ presentation, as usual, to courier and driver in appreciation of their different roles. One fellow with a reasonable wit took his stance by the wheel to face his captive audience. He then declaimed the doggerel he had composed secretly for

the occasion. His verse, lampooning the “characters” among his companions and enlarging on various amusing incidents during the tour, was received with much hilarity. Hearty laughter and excited chatter culminated then in a spontaneous burst into “For they are jolly good fellows .. The coach was soon almost rocking off its wheels. Our Cantabrians, though joining in with gusto, were somewhat distracted by the gawking amazement of the foreigners passing by. They were fascinated to note the behaviour of one blackclad little old lady. She was bowed under a heavy bundle but, suddenly, meeting their eyes, she dropped her load to her feet. Slowly she put a thick forefinger to a wrinkled brow. Deliberately she screwed it round and round in explicit pantomime, then, devoid of all expression, picked up her bundle and trudged off without a backward glance. What use for the Kiwis to protest silently that they were not of the mad English? That little old French lady had already classified them. Doubtless she recounts the tale to this day — even more than our friends do . . . and they tell it often enough!