Welcome to the world of
Michael G Kimber
Michael G Kimber
The Nightwriter
Of Cabbages And Kings
Lewis Carroll may not have had me in mind when he wrote his nonsense verse, but it pretty much sums up the subject of this little tale.
Foremost in the minds of most young men, more often than not, is girls. Indeed, for some of them, that is all there is; the only thing worthwhile. From their waking moment one thought is uppermost; that by the end of the day they will hope to have added another notch on their gun.
For others it is less frantic. Some preferring to be less egocentric; less self indulgent, and maybe a little more realistic.
I would certainly have placed myself in the latter of these two categories, recognising of course that many other factors came into play in the ongoing battle of the sexes, by which nature has intended to keep the planet well stocked.
At the same time I admit I had a certain envy for those who inhabited the former of the two options. Those guys for whom inhibition was an unfamiliar word; whose confidence in themselves was undoubted; and whose ability to attract the girls, like moths around a candle, was, or at least seemed, to be infinite.
But as I said, many other factors have to be taken in to account.
Shortage of money!
No car!
Cant dance!
Shy!
Not good looking!
You know the kind of thing.
Excuses some might say, but I think not. At least, not entirely. But the idea that a boy, or indeed a girl, needs to sample every apple in the barrel before he/she can tell which is the sweetest, was a view I did not share. Granted it may have been more fun, and eventually that person will have known quite a lot about apples, but will he/she know, at the end of it all, which was the sweetest. When he took that first bite of the first apple, what was there to compare it with. When he had tried ten, twenty, or maybe fifty apples, did he remember how sweet the first one was? I doubt it.
It reminds me of what I call it The new shoes syndrome.
Consider the person who needs a new pair of shoes. She (for example) likes a pair she sees in the very first shop.
‘Oh no, I cant have those she will say, I might see some I like better’; and proceeds to look at every shoe in every shoe shop in town. She sees many pairs of shoes that she likes, but by the end cant quite remember that first pair, but she thinks, ‘I’m sure I liked them the best’.
So she has to start again, and eventually finds herself back at the first shop. Finally she goes home, happily clutching the very pair she liked from the outset.
So my argument is that the one you fall in love with first is just as likely to be miss right, as all the other apples and shoes put together.
Never-the-less, though I may have started later than some of my contemporaries, I did in the end find my way into and then out of, the mating maze. I found a wife who seems to have been as sweet as that first apple, but in any event it was a good choice for we are still together, while many (perhaps most) of my then peers, who took the other route, may have discovered that apple tasting was far from the exact science they believed it to be.
My romantic story wont take much of your time. Compared with the likes of Valentino, and Don Giovanni, on a scale of one to ten, I might sneak in with a score of minus ninety seven, and no-one is likely to write an opera about me. But, and here is the point, while it may not much of your time, quietly in the background, it has taken nearly fifty years of mine.
Which nicely brings me to the subject of my wife.
I am reminded of the old music hall song ... We’ve been together now ... You know the rest I suppose. Like most people, our journey has been a journey of clichés. Sunshine and showers, ups and down, give and take, rough seas and smooth waters, and - yes I know, you’ve heard them all. There have been times in our life together, when everything seemed perfect (that is to say within our own parameters) And like most people there were times we have had to face up to some difficulties. But face them we did, and looking back its hard to see where the bumps were.
We were introduced by my friend and tennis partner. She was a work college of his and fittingly he became my best man at our wedding.
Before that of course there was the difficult and complicated subject of courtship, but unlike Adam and the ubiquitous apple, in my story it was a cabbage that sealed my fate. Most of us, even those who had been practicing with a veritable barrel load of apples don’t get much advance warning about the rules of engagement - when it comes to engagement. Not least because, in what used to be a mans world, it seemed to me that all the important decisions made during the period of ‘engagement’ were made not by the men, but by the ladies. Not only the ladies in the bride’s family, but also those in the groom’s. Furthermore it was usually an unfair contest, sparing one man against the combined might of all the ladies from both families.
There were, to say the least, some interesting differences of opinion, some interesting problems, and some interesting solutions. But, despite it all, we got there and tied the knot in 1960.
Long before that of course I had been ‘shown off’ to my girl friend’s family; displayed for all to see my finer (and not so fine) features, and hung out for closer inspection. Happily I was found to be satisfactory, though perhaps it took a little time for them to get used to me and my little idiosyncrasies. I am happy to report that they did and after a while they started to like me. Then a little later I was regarded as one of the family. But as you will see, that was to happen in rather a curios way.
I am lucky to have a fairly good sense of humour, and I can recall many comical incidents which helped to seal my fate as a honorary fellow in my ‘in laws’ clan. But I will mention just two which stand out, either of which might have seen our engagement ended. I had developed a party trick, which I thought I had perfected, whereby I would twirl a fully loaded plate above my head, twist it round and upside down, finally brining it to rest on the table, not a hair out of place, either on my head or on the plate.
On one occasion, a Sunday probably, the front room table was being prepared for tea, and I, eager to impress took hold of a plate of tomatoes, and with a great flourish in front of the entire family, performed my trick, certain that I would earn their praise. Imagine my horror when the plate, with the flourish I had so often practiced, landed on the table - empty. I turned to see five astonished pairs of eyes looking first at me, and then to the best settee, now liberally decorated with a generous covering of tomatoes, sliced into dozens of pieces.
I have to admit, that it was some time before the memory of that incident brought a smile to my face, or to theirs, but eventually it did; partly brought about by the next event.
This time it was something that came out of the blue, a ‘bon mot’ as the French might say. One of those occasions when I chose to say exactly the right words, at the right time. My girl friend’s father was justly proud of his prowess in the garden, and especially so of his vegetable patch. I was still a novelty in the ‘in law’s midst, in those early days of our romance. I was still finding my feet, which had not yet fully found their way under the table (to coin a phrase)
One day he had returned from the garden, grappling to hold onto an armful of lettuce and various vegetables, including a string bag filled with King Edward potatoes hanging from one arm, while the other was trying to hold on to a football sized sphere, and struggling to prevent the fruits of his labour from disappearing all over the kitchen floor. Despite his battle to keep control he was anxious that I should feel at home, and thinking no doubt that my parents might like some home grown produce, he held out his hand.
“Want a cabbage lad?” he asked, offering me, with considerable difficulty, the prize of his plot.
Quick as a flash I replied “ No thanks , I’ve just had a biscuit.” Again there was a stunned silence, but different this time from the tomatoes episode. Ten seconds elapsed that seemed like ten minutes, before mayhem erupted. Suddenly everyone was laughing, nervously at first, then hysterically, and then uncontrollably. The house was in total uproar, people stamping about not knowing what to do with themselves, and not knowing where to look. For a time it seemed as though we would never stop, our sides splitting and eyes running;, and all of us in serious danger of losing control of certain bodily functions.