“GIMLETS.”

Serial Waves, 14 September 1940, Page 19

“GIMLETS.”

An Appreciation by Doug. Laurenson. Recipe. Take equal parts of Gin, Limejuice, and Iced water. Mix thoroughly, sip leisurely, and enjoy blissfully. Speaking personally, I am indebted to Eric Hammer, Wireless Operator on our transport, for my original introduction to Gimlets.” u It was one of those close sultry nights which marked our entry into the tropics. Our ship was lazily making her way across

the Indian Ocean, and the Wireless room was full of tobacco smoke, heavy air and crackles of static.

We had been twisting the dials in the vain hope of getting war news. It was too early for Daventry —and Berlin stations showed no signs of activity, which proved that on the other side of the world our young men, speeding over Germany at hundreds of miles an hour, were doing a successful job of work. Benito’s “ yes-men ” seemed to have all gone to bed as well, because try as we would, no Italian station could be located. That left us with a clear-cut decision.

Should we listen to India or China. The Indian programme was strangely reminiscent of a choir of tom cats being slowly electrocuted.

The Chinese alternative was harder to define. We decided ultimately that it resembled a funeral march played by the seven suffering shellfish of Singapore. _ So — we gave up radio as a means of passing the time.

My host is notorious for the way in which he puts the landsman at his ease. Noticing that the heat was slowly turning my complexion to a deep purple—he was comforting me by detailing a vivid description of prickly heat. Before I had finally decided that this was what I was suffering from, he rapidly outlined the major signs of cholera, malaria, sleeping sickness and blackwater fever. Fortunately his relief arrived before my temperature touched 112, and we made our way to his cabin. Once inside he pressed the button, and to his Chinese boy gave that ever welcome command :— “ Bring plenty pieces ice top side. Can do ?” And in two minutes a large jug of ice water, and a plate of jagged lumps of ice were on the table.

It was then, for the first time in a long and mis-spent life that I tasted a “ Gimlet.” It’s a drink that needs an Omar Khayam to give it full justice. No prose, however inspired, could hope to do more than merely outline its merits. Shakespeare himself, blank verse and all would only make a hash of it. But still, one can only try. First of all, it must be remembered that on board we used ship’s > tumblers Magnificent vessels, of a rotundity and volume that make you raise your hat in silent reverence. Into these glorious chalices, a full inch and a half of gin was poured. Then similar quantities of limejuice n and iced water. A final stirring with a swizzle-stick, and the party was on. “ Gimlets ” have a definite progressive effect. After the first—the novice thinks to himself :—“ By jove. What a fine medicinal beverage this is. It must be amazingly good for one.” A few moments pause, and the name of the drink becomes somewhat distorted, and you say :— “ I think I’ll have one more of those ‘ bradawls.’ They’re wonderful.” You send it down the hatchand staggering slightly, order a third. When it too joins the previous depth .charges, you are strongly urged to call a halt. If you are within crawling distance of your cabin—get there before the 'blackout. It’s not that ‘ gimlets ’ are fiercely potent—there seems to be some subtle balance in getting the exact proportions, and once this is obtained, the drink is something that is definitely right out of the box. Personally, I think they should be called a . “ Joe Louis Special.” They have a

distinctly dirty left, as many a Two-Ton Tony Gallento has learned to his cost. No appreciation of ‘ gimlets ’ would be complete without reference to those genial narks—the censors of our mail. The average man’s conception of those who censor our mail on board this ship is of an array of arch-demons who not only delight in mutilating the most sacred paragraphs in our letters home—but who prepare for a rainy day by noting down in their little black books, the names and addresses of all the lovely ladies to whom we write in affectionate terms. (What a visiting list those chaps will build up before the end of this voyage—especially in ( ) (Deleted by Censor.) However, when writing to chaps in N.Z. with whom we worked in office, store, factory or mine, we can treat the censors with happy contempt so long as we write about ‘ gimlets.’

Not even the man who can quote King’s Regs, backwards can find a hidden meaning in the recipe as quoted at the beginning of this masterpiece. Reference to the results of the drink cannot be struck out from a —even by the most suspicious. '.. | And ..finallyour appreciation is unbounded when it dawns on us that we merely have to make up one good descriptive letter —outlining all the many attractions of his extraordinarily good drinkand just copy as many descriptions as we have 'friends. The subject is novel—interesting—and unlimited. And as postage is . freewell, all you have to do is to recall the names and addresses, and you can go right ahead. Then, on your return to N.Z., you will find on the wharf waiting to welcome you—a happy band of grateful comrades—men whose regular pass-word up to 6 p.m. every night is “ Gimlets.”