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Private correspondence
IT’S THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS
OR
GROUNDS FOR DIVORCE
From: Algernon Allbones
Orchard Lee
Frogmanton, Brighton
To: Periwinkle Abercrombie
Cathedral Close
Cirnencester
My dear Periwinkle, I felt I just had to put pen to paper to inform you of a series of events that has shocked our circle of friends here in Frogmanton. You hold friendship, in common with us all, with Major Bollingbrook. Well Peri, I happened, by pure chance, to alight upon our dear friend Colonel Becile regaling a group of people with what appeared to me to be a shocking tale. I stood at the bar of the ‘Exclusively Men’ club ordering a schooner of Harveys, and could not help overhearing every detail, and by good fortune was in on the tale at the start. I was so shocked that I had to order another schooner in quick succession; and you know me Peri I am not one given to drink, I never get drunk except on Mondays and weekends.
Malcolm Becile, he is always at the club, was waxing lyrical about the major and an unfortunate turn of events that has befallen him. Well, I am not one to gossip, as you know, but felt it imperative that you should be informed, in all haste, as to the shocking and disturbing goings on here in Frogmanton. Below I have set out the gist of the story, adding my own impartial views, for your delectation... hmmm, perusal, I should say. I have done my best not to put the major in too bad a light... more of this later. Please respond post haste with your, what are always well noted, observations on the matter.”
The Major had been married over thirty years as you know, but now found his self, Saturday last week, in the corner of his local drowning his sorrows after a sudden and unexpected divorce from his wife; a divorce he instigated.
Major Bollingbrook considered his self too be a generous man; but then he considered himself to be many things; perhaps a little on the conceited side. I will say no more on that as I wish to be charitable. In view of this self assessment by the major, in the matter of generosity, it came as somewhat of a shock when his wife Griselda Bollingbrook, after years of devoted gratitude, displayed gross untoward ingratitude.
When we look at the track record of the major’s marriage and his, some may say excessive generosity, we marvel at the woman’s sudden change of attitude. Frankly, in the words of his long time friend Colonel I. M. Becile, and we have to agree, it is ‘shocking to the nth degree’. (Actually Peri it is A.M Becile but I could not resist the slight change, which is so in line with the character of the colonel, and which gives a rather humorous and a somewhat accurate flavour to his name... ha, ha, ha.) To continue:
Any independent examination as to the major’s devotion to his wife and her needs would
marvel that she could be so ungrateful as to force the major, by her extreme behaviour, to divorce her. Indeed they would be bound to consider it as an act of great betrayal, and denial, of a long held tradition accepted by all charitable people, that ‘it is the thought that counts.’
What is the world coming to when we abandon such long held and dearly cherished values? We sympathise with the major who had no choice in the matter but to, with all speed, instigate divorce proceedings. We go further and declare that he was defending one of the basic tenets that are the glue, nay the very fabric… the very pillars of our society. It is not for me to takes sides between man and wife... never... but she is nothing but an ingrate, and, I may say, typical of the sex. Such goings on make me all the gladder I have remained a bachelor; a view I am sure you concur with. Well I digress, so continuo cuspis as they say old boy.
In demonstrating to you the perfidious nature of that woman, Griselda Bollingbrook, I can do no better than to relate past conversations that I overheard, purely by chance, at the bar of the ‘Men Only Club,’ between Major Bollingbrook and Colonel Becile. This will serve to put the major in a proper light and make plain the injustice the man has suffered at the hands of his erstwhile wife.
The first such conversation took place at the back end of last year and went as follows:
Enter the major (I do love this Peri) to be greeted by Becile.
“Ah major... what’ll you have old boy.”
“G&T Colonel if you don’t mind.”
“Coming up old boy, coming up,” the Colonel said.“Your looking remarkably pleased with yoursel Major,if you don’t mind my saying so. What’s afoot?”
“Oh... I’ve just had spiffing round of golf, never better... what.”
“I thought you had your clubs stolen old chap?”
“Yes... that’s right. But I had this inexplicable urge to treat the wife... dear soul... and bought her some Arnold Palmer clubs complete with bag and trolley... all the accoutrements of course.”
“But your wife doesn’t play golf does she?”
“Goodness me no colonel, wouldn’t know one end of a golf club from t’other. An indoors girl you know... but it was fortuitous. They are a damn fine set of clubs. Anyway, as I always say, it’s the thought that counts. Griselda was very touched by it you know.”
“Ah,” replied the colonel, “just so.”
This ably demonstrates the majors’ good heartedness; don’t you think Peri? He completely unselfishly, needing the clubs for himself, goes and buys his wife a set... and not cheap ones at that.
Conversation 2. Setting: The Dog and Duck public house, Frogmanton Hill.
“.... so I said to him, it takes more than one egg to make an omelette... ha, ha, ha... what”
“Oh you are a one major, ha, ha, ha,” said the Colonel, “always ready with a sharp reply... never known you any different. By the way old chap, did I see you drive up in a green Porsche... must of cost you the earth... what?”
“Yes Colonel, latest model you know. Drives like a dream. Bought it for the wife actually... it’s not mine.”
“Really... correct me if I’m wrong Major... but Griselda doesn’t drive; does she?”
“I should hope not... what, with a temperament like hers. Goodness, I’d go gray overnight. Much too risky old chap. No, I won’t let her near the thing, but as I always say it’s the thought that counts. She was delighted with it... a bit miffed when I wouldn’t let her get in, you know what women are like... clutter the bloody car up with tissues smeared with lipstick, and dig their bloody high heels into the new car mats, etc.... but she understood; as always.”
You know Peri, when I relate these conversations to you I find it beggars belief that she could be such an ingrate; the man’s a veritable angel. He was always buying things for her. What does it take, I ask myself, to satisfy a woman these days. Any how it seems the crunch came six months ago. The Major and his wife went to Singapore for a short holiday, two days I believe, since by the majors own admission, poor man, two days with his wife in a hotel was all he could bear. It was while on holiday that the forbearing man bought his wife a gold Omega watch. On arrival back in England it appears he presented her with it; that’s when the trouble began. I will chronicle the events for you in the majors own words taken from another conversation heard by me, by chance, while in the Major’s local the ‘Cue and Balls’
He he he, enter the Colonel, right stage to see the Major drowning his sorrows in a corner of the Saloon....ha ha ha... No I mustn’t, it is too cruel but I could not resist it Peri, it is such a drama!
“What’s up Major, I haven’t seen you for months. You look as if you have found sixpence and lost a pound old fellow.”
“Humph... it’s a good deal worse than that. I have divorced Griselda... damn the woman.”
“Divorced? Whatever for? That makes no financial sense old boy. You never divorce... sideline yes... but divorce... never.”
“Well Colonel I was sorely tried... I had no choice in the matter. It came down to the core values old chap.”
“I’ll get you a G&T Major and you can fill me in,” said the Colonel, ordering from the bar, while exercising great restraint, although eager to hear the tale. “Here get this down you old bean. Now fire away; what happened?”
“Well it all came to a head when we got back from two days in Singapore. I bought the ungrateful wretch a gold Omega watch which I showed her on arrival back in Blighty. You are not going to believe this... do you know the woman took the watch and at once... in her own words, fell in love with it. Fell in love with it... I ask you, it is a man’s watch for goodness sake, what does a woman want with a man’s watch? It appears it is the latest fashion for a woman to wear a big watches... she called it chunky... bloody ‘chunky’ I ask you and it the latest slim-line model.”
"Do you know she wanted to keep it! Keep it for goodness sake. Well I was flabbergasted and remonstrated with her but she would not budge, attaching the bloody thing to her wrist and waving it in my face. Do you know she actually had the audacity to say that ‘possession is nine tenths of the law?’
“It seems this expression struck a nerve with her and she began to secrete things away... things I had bought her over the years. I was livid, especially when I discovered she had locked the Porsche up in the garage with my... her... clubs in the boot and changed the locks.
“A week later I was locked out of the house... locked out! Next day I received a call from my solicitor demanding a legal separation, she’s a catholic you know, and a financial settlement. Well I filed at once for divorce... a quickie.”
“I was left with no choice. When a spouse reacts in such an ungrateful way what is there left to do? I am bemused by it all... she took the watch... she took it, damn it. It was a beautiful thing and had no business on a woman’s wrist. Whatever happened to gratitude... don’t these women know that it is the thought that counts? She’s far too materialistic.”
“I sympathise with you Major, said the Colonel, “it’s appalling... thoroughly feminine of course. I keep my woman dampened down with a supply of copious amounts of Black Label. She’s blotto most of the time. Never pays to let them have a footing. I am afraid though old boy you have brought this upon yourself by your undue generosity... it never pays to be too generous. I hope, major, this will be a lesson to you. You’ve let the side down a bit... we might have to reconsider your membership of the club. We don’t want this rot to set in.”
Well Peri, do you know that they blackballed the Major when he applied for renewal of his membership. It is a dreadful tale. It makes me shudder when I consider how close I came in my twenties to marrying Gladys Ponsonby. What a near escape! I saw her just last week, when I was in London, walking down Oxford Street. It turned my blood cold. Her face was not unlike the back of the red bus that went by at the time. Oh dear, I think she had turned into her mother, who was as you know, a veritable dragon of a woman. He he he.
Back to Major Bollingbrook Peri; personally I have little time for the man. Anybody who wears white socks with black shoes has got to be suspect. I concur with the blackballing of him... indeed I cast against him. As for his erstwhile wife, well her behaviour is typical of the species.
Yours ever,
Algernon Allbones.
P.S Please reply A.s.a.p and let me have your thoughts on the matter.
From: PeriwinkleAbercrombie Cathedral Close
Cirencester
To:
Algernon Allbones
Orchard Lee
Frogmanton,Brighton
My dear Argy it was a real tonic to hear from you once again and to be kept up with the news down there in Brighton... what a dreadful place. Why you don’t move up to the Midshires I will never understand.
As to the Major... well I think he got his just deserts; he treated the woman too well... it never pays. What goes around comes around. I think any other decision than to blackball him
from the club would have been far too moderate in view of the circumstances. For once Colonel Becile was right... I think we had better mark the event on our calendar since it will be a long time before he reaches that level again... ha, ha, ha... what. Your play on Becile was very funny... if a little lacking in charity.
I hope you don’t mind, my dearest Argy, to my drawing attention at this point to certain consistent failings on your part. Amused as I was, I found you missive to have a note of cattiness about. Argy my dear fellow we must not revel in the misfortunes of others. My dear father, the bishop, a most charitable man, always instructed me towards compassion. I suggest you take to reading Johns’ Gospel again my dear fellow.
Although I was never one to take the church too seriously, it has to be said that its leaders do, at times... infrequent as they are... offer good advice which I now pass on to you; more compassion my friend... more compassion. More compassion, and yes more charity.
Like you I am glad to have escaped the clutches of the female species... I use that word advisedly... since they appear, at times, to be from a different planet. That Griselda woman certainly fits the pattern. She is obviously a chauvinist, and you know me Argy, I have little patience for such attitudes.
I have always applied the maxim that it is the thought that counts... anything else is pure materialism. Ah that reminds me, and I will digress for a moment. When you send me your usual gift of Black Label this month Argy, could you up it to a litre... 750mll is a little on the mean side; don’t you think?
Back my friend to the goings on in seedy Brighton. If I had my way I would not have stopped at blackballing the Major... I would have had that bore Becile ejected along with him. I never have liked army types... far too masculine. Although one does not feel attracted to the feminine species there certain features that appeal, set aside on their own of course, and not in the whole package; I like a man to be masculine but with a dash of softness to his character; a nice balance I feel. I am afraid my dear Argy balance went out of the window at your birth... you are far too weighted on the feminine side; but bless you dear Argy, you cannot help that.
Well, keep me well informed my fine fellow. I am not in favour of gossip but details are important and you left a number out in your missive.
Yours ever, Periwinkle Abercrombie. Bsc MA
From:
Algernon Allbones
Orchard Lee
Frogmanton,Brighton
To:
Periwinkle Abercrombie
Cathedral Close
Cirencester
My Dear Abercrombie, It was so reassuring to see you confirm your strong belief in the maxim that it is ‘the thought that counts.’ In view of this affirmation on your part I am sure you will be content with the fact that I have thought of sending you the usual monthly bottle of Black Label but feel unable to do so this time. Knowing how you feel I am content with my decision not to keep this tradition up for a spell... perhaps when certain conditions exist I may feel able to continue the practice once more.
I have every confidence that the above will do no harm to our relationship. Indeed, as you so eloquently restated yourself; it is the thought that counts, and I note your thoughts on certain matters in your letter, with some interest, but my disposition toward being charitable prevents me making pointed comments or judgements on them.
With regard to being too feminine my dear Abercrombie, it hardly befits an old queen, such as you, to make such comments... reach for your fan my dear; there is more to come. For someone who orders baby powder by the carton I think your observations smack a little of the pot calling the kettle black. It should be noted that I twice attended a fitness centre last year-and stayed a full ten minutes on each occasion-whereas I am sure you would swoon at the mere mention of such establishments.
As to moving to Cirencester... well my dear Abercrombie you do have a wicked sense of the ridiculous... as always. Where exactly is Cirencester? Somewhere in the sticks I am told. Well you know me... I like to be in the thick of things and not in some far out military post. I have not yet reached my dotage and become content with a vacuous existence in some remote out of the way place.
I have always suspected, but this is surely not true of you my dear Abercrombie, I hope, that people who retire to the outposts of civilisation have something to hide in the way of social graces.
Yours, in warmth, from the metropolis of Brighton,
Algernon Allbones.
It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it. Aristotle
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Rank: Advanced Member
Joined: 6/1/2011
Posts: 987
Points: 1,858
Location: United Kingdom
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Further private correspondence
THE INVASION
OR
A MOST UNFORTUNATE TURN OF EVENTS
Periwinkle Abercrombie
1 Cathedral Close
Cirencester
Algernon Allbones
Orchard Lee
Frogmanton, Brighton
My Dearest Algernon, thank you for the usual weekly gift of Black Label; Allthorpe the Wine merchant is so prompt with his deliveries. You know I am not a keen drinker, but my poor health determines that, purely for medicinal purposes you understand, I must imbibe of what some call the ‘Golden Nectar’. Well, we all have to endure the vagaries of life and have our own particular burdens to bear, but I am fortunate; my physician is so wise. I trust his judgement implicitly.
When my doctor explained to me the benefits of a regular whisky or two, I was astonished and utterly persuaded as to the validity of his advice. Whisky relieves stress, something you know I suffer from acutely, and promotes appetite and sleep which is so good for my insomnia and poor eating habits. He also informed me of the fact that whisky can help prevent heart disease and, as you know, back in the 1830’s a relative of mine died of this terrible complaint, so you see it runs in the family and puts me at great risk; I feel much at ease knowing that I am looking after my heart when I drink my whisky. However I digress.
The reason I writing to you Algernon, is to inform you of a most unfortunate turn of events. Indeed it is so shocking I hardly know where to begin, but begin I must.
You are aware, I know, of our local newspaper ‘The Cirencester Clarion’. The Clarion has been part of the fabric of our land for nigh on 200 years Algy. During all that time it has stood up for British values with a vigilance surpassed by none; never missing getting copies off the printing press during two world wars. The Clarion has been a veritable institution, one which all true-blood Englishmen were proud of; not anymore!
You are going to find this hard to believe Algernon; prepare yourself. The paper has been taken over by Germans! The Germans of all people; the French would have been hard enough to swallow, but the Germans constitute nothing short of a disaster.
Now I am not a ‘Little Englander’ as you know, or prone to xenophobia, heaven forbid, but I had to down two quick double whiskies when I heard the news and then filled my glass for a more sedate third. Oh, Algy my dear fellow that reminds me... do you think Allthorpe could bring an extra bottle when he calls tomorrow... I feel so stressed out?
As you know Algy there is no man more broad-minded or tolerant than I. I view myself as a citizen of the world… prejudice is a word that no even-minded person would use in connection with me, but to continue, apparently a family going by the ridiculous name of Baron Von Riffenoff has had the audacity to buy out the current shareholders, the Ramsey’s.
The Ramsey’s are an old established English family, Sir George Ramsey being perceived as a pillar of society; I use the word ‘perceived’ advisedly for it seems he has bad blood in him. I researched his family tree and noted, with some horror, that one of the females of his line married a German in the 1700’s; bad blood will always out. The fact that the German was three quarters Danish and one eighth Swedish does nothing to diminish the bad taste left in one’s mouth. Von Riffenoff? More like Rippemoff I would say.
When I think of the sacrifices my father made during the war in resisting Hitler overtly invading the shores of our beloved island, only for me to be a witness in our times, of invasion by stealth. It is no exaggeration to employ the use of the word ‘invasion’ especially in view of a recent discovery I made. My dear Algy I was shocked, not to say dismayed, to discover recently that Rolls Royce has been swallowed up by BMW; Daimler too, I am reliably informed.
Rolls Royce... the very essence of the British way of life... in the hands of a bunch of sausage makers; you must sell your Rolls Royce Phantom post-haste. We must all make sacrifices in the cause of the defence of our land, I too will do my part; I intend to give up eating hamburgers.
My father, the late Bishop, at the risk of life and limb, was a Colonel in that elite force the home guard. He gave up part of his week-ends for the defence of our land and missed out on at least three Pheasant shoots on Lord Bycroft’s estate during the war.
To think that this land which has produced such literary giants as Bede and Chaucer not to mention Shakespeare; Milton; Dickens; Thackeray, and our beloved Jane Austen, just to name but a few, is being taken over by a nation of sausage makers and beer drinkers, is quite beyond belief. I racked my brains to come up with any German literary greats and could only recall that ridiculous tale of ‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin.’ It seems this, which can only be described as doggerel, first appeared at the beginning of the thirteenth century and since then German literature has existed in a veritable waste land.
It is of interest to note that one of the pillars of the story is an invasion of the town by rats; if it were not for my even-mindedness I would draw some analogy from their preoccupation with such creatures; hint, hint. Now Algy, it is not that I am in any way Anti-German, perish the thought, but the superiority of the English speaking peoples over the Germans is self-evident, and we do not want to dumb down due to an insidious invasion of our land by a bunch of sausage makers.
I wait for, what I am sure will be, as ever, your insightful reply, with the greatest of anticipation. Ever yours, in defence of our homeland,
Periwinkle Abercrombie.
Algernon Allbones
Orchard Lee
Frogmanton, Brighton
Periwinkle Abercrombie
1 Cathedral Close
Cirencester
My Dearest Periwinkle, I am in receipt of you letter, which I read while on my way to the theatre in my Rolls. I was downing my second glass of 63’ vintage port at the time, very good year that, I always keep a bottle in the Rolls, and your missive was a nice ‘aperitif’ to the upcoming play. I did not get the post until the evening, since during the day I was en-route home from a rather successful business meeting in Hamburg of all places; such irony
Vis-a-vis you request for an extra bottle of Black Label, you will be heartened to know that I instructed my butler Jefferson to ring Allthorpe with instructions to comply with your wishes. We don’t want to deprive you of this much needed solace, that is to say necessity, especially in view of the advice of that most excellent doctor of yours; where does he hold the bulk his shares? Ha, ha, ha… just joking Peri.
Now let me get to the nub of your missive Peri. I must say ‘Au Contraire’ to your, what are evidently strong, though misguided feelings and conclusions; in particular on the matter of business. As to your other observations… well I find myself concurring with your views, although I must say with some haste, like you, I do not have slightest of Anti-German feelings. Indeed it is my considered opinion that we must grind such prejudices into the ground and stamp them down with all the vigour at our disposal; we must rise above such small minded attitudes since they are the retreat of charlatans and rogues.
Peri my dear fellow let me get back to the issue of commercial matters. We live in a global business world. I can think of numerous British companies that are strong in Germany. I know for a fact we are into Pharmaceuticals, Engineering and Electronics in a big way in Deutschland. The acquisition by a German company of ‘The Clarion’ is purely a business matter; nothing more. Beside Peri, ‘The Clarion’ is hardly ‘The Times,’ is it old boy. Really if we are honest it is no more than a local rag representing an outpost in the mid-shires of England.
I take it, in view of your eloquent denunciation of the takeover of the paper, that you will be cancelling your subscription of ‘The Clarion’, as well as giving up Hamburgers. I was not aware, by the way, of your predilection for such ‘culinary delights’; in fact I seem to recall you once expressed a strong aversion to what you scathingly described as ‘a chemical mix wrapped up in an excuse for a bun.’ I think if you consulted your good doctor he would concur with you. Besides which, Peri, the hamburger of today is more of an American venture than a German one. Of course way back in the past there was a connection, but it is a tenuous one, to say the least. The modern Hamburger is a very different product than that which was first started in Hamburg.
As to selling the Rolls… well I shall do no such thing. It is made in England by British craftsman at Goodwood. It is still, in quintessence, British to the core. The Germans, it seems, are hungry to ally themselves to our superiority in such fields. It is a pity that their inferior product, the BMW, should gain credence from its association with Rolls Royce, but at the same time pleasing that such a stubborn, one might, if one was minded that way, say obnoxious people, acquiesce to the obvious class of the Rolls. Oh by the way Peri, the Daimler is a German invention; inferior in every way, of course, to the Rolls; but then the Germans are always playing catch-up.
As to our superiority in the field of literature, well who can dispute it I ask? We are, and always have been, at the forefront of the written word. I entirely concur in all aspects with your observations on this point and only part from you on the matter of business. One seldom thinks of Germans, if at all, as possessing the finer points of the human psyche.
My dear Peri…take a glass of whisky and relax… don’t get your knickers in such a twist over the acquisition of what is just a local rag. It is a question of balance old chap and not allowing these xenophobic tendencies to overwhelm us. We must try to see the good in our friends from over the water; though in the case of the Germans it is more than a little difficult; if not to say impossible.
In conclusion you will be pleased to know that I screwed the enemy in a very neat business venture… they are now in receipt of what is largely a defunct company.
Yours, in balance,
Algernon Allbones.
Periwinkle Abercrombie
1 Cathedral Close
Cirencester
Algernon Allbones
Orchard Lee
Frogmanton, Brighton
My Dear Allbones, I am grateful to you for the extra Black Label, you are too kind, since it is essential to the continuance of my good health. Your joke about my doctor made me laugh when I realized that you were not, in the least, suggesting that I drink whisky other than on health grounds. Such a statement would hurt me deeply.
As to the question as to whether I will cancel my subscription of The Clarion. Of course the answer is that I shall continue to subscribe to The Clarion, purely in the capacity of monitoring editorial content, you understand. In any case I refuse to allow the German acquisition to force me to retreat in any shape or form. I will stand firm in memory of my illustrious father, the Bishop.
I am used to your form of humour my dear Allbones and your comments as to the nature of ‘The Clarion,’ amused me immensely... ha, ha, ha. Of course we both know that in truth, The Clarion has been at the forefront of the cutting edge of investigative journalism.
I am reminded of their stunning revelation, for example, that snakes can hear. It was previously thought they had no hearing organs, but The Clarion carried an article that soundly disproved this. They then carried that excellent piece that scientifically explained why toast always lands on the jam side when it is dropped. These were ground breaking examples of investigative journalism at its best. They also solved a local serial crime that had been bothering the Cirencester Police Force when they very cleverly identified the name of the serial gnome thief; leading to the young boys’ arrest and fine. We do not want the Germans to dumb down the paper do we?
I am heartened by your explanation vis-a-vis the Rolls and look forward to many a future ride in it. It was also comforting to know that we are taking the fight to them by acquiring their companies and ridding ourselves of those less profitable.
Yours ever, an internationalist and somewhat mollified,
Periwinkle Abercrombie.
It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it. Aristotle
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