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#Post#: 61--------------------------------------------------
The Man Without A Sense of Humour
By: WiShBo! Date: November 26, 2012, 12:09 pm
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by Hettie Ashwin
I went up on deck for a smoke before the cargo ship Arc Julius
departed and stood on the port side idly gazing at the hub of
activity on the dock. Presently a cab pulled up and I watched a
middle aged couple step out and casually walk to the gang plank;
like they had all the time in the world. If they had heard the
Captain swearing an hour earlier they might have quickened their
pace.
He was a serious looking fellow rugged up with a coat and scarf
although the weather was mild. She on the other hand was in a
spring dress which caught by the wind was flattened onto her
middle aged body with all its inherent flaws. She held onto her
hat, a frilly thing with flowers and bows and tried to control
her dress with her other hand while laughing. It was a laugh of
carefree abandon and little did I know how that laugh would
grate on my nerves by the third day of the twenty one day
voyage.
The woman began to direct traffic, instructing the man, her
husband I guessed, to gather the luggage, pay the driver,
instruct the porters and deckhands and by the look of it keep
the gathering clouds at bay.
Eventually the Captain strode down the gangplank and with a few
choice words that gratefully were taken by the wind the couple
began to board. By this time all the passengers had managed
front row seats to watch the spectacle and the woman spying her
audience waved and laughed as her husband struggled behind with
a few small personal bags.
As soon as they stepped onto the ship the crew sprang into
action and ropes were cast, orders shouted and engines beat into
life.
“Heavens they don’t hang about do they,” the woman said and
laughed.
“We are late,” one of the passengers replied, I thought with
more than a hint of sarcasm.
“Really, oh dear,” she said oblivious to the nuance. I looked at
her companion and he smiled and shrugged his shoulders in a
sheepish manner.
“Come on Harold,” the woman said and they followed Bonell the
steward. “See you all later,” she ended with that laugh and a
wave.
The next opportunity we had to engage with this couple was at
dinner. Being on a cargo ship dressing for dinner remained a
casual affair. None the less the three ladies did their best and
the men wore suits. The ship carried twelve passengers to the
islands and charged half the price of the regular liners if you
could rough it for the twenty days. I had taken the journey many
times and enjoyed the freedom of the casual atmosphere. We all
stood in the dining room and chatted amicably about our plans,
the trip, the weather and then the late comes came in. The
middle aged lady rushed up to the two women who were chatting
with the steward and myself and butting right in said,
“Hello dearies, what are you drinking?” The women looked a
little stunned and I took a step back.
“Er Martinis,” one said
“Right, I’ll have one too,” she said then introduced herself.
“Dolly Lancome and my husband Harold Lancome. Well of course
he’d be a Lancome too, silly me.” And then she laughed. A
throaty, nasal type noise that spluttered into life then
hee-hawed for what seemed like several minutes ending in a very
undignified snort not dissimilar to a farm yard animal. The
women watched the performance fascinated then as the noise died
they jumped out of their reverie and introduced themselves and I
bowed and said,
“Mr. Stancombe,” and held out my hand.
“Oh pleasure,” she gripped my hand and pumped vigorously hoping
I thought to strike oil.
“Harold, this is Mr. Stancombe. Lancome, Stancome. Lancome
Stancome. What a treat. I know I’ll get a lot of fun out of that
one won’t I Harold.” Harold held out his hand and Mrs. Lancome
passed me over to her husband. He took my hand with a wet fish
grip and smiled.
“Nice to meet you,” and sort of juggled my hand a bit then slid
from my grip making me feel like I should wipe my hand on a
napkin or something.
“Yes, likewise,” I said and looked around for an excuse to exit.
Bonell provided my alibi by sounding the gong for dinner and we
all began to sit down at the long table. It didn’t take long and
the three women were cackling and ordering martinis from the one
steward. He was a good natured chap and as the custom, had been
tipped handsomely before the voyage began so knew just how much
service to meter out to each passenger.
It is my experience when travelling that where one sits is where
one stays. So it can be quite important to eye your companions
and use all your skill to judge a good all rounder for company.
Many a time I have been stuck with a complete bore or someone
whose table manners resemble a pig at the trough. So I ran my
experienced eye over my eleven travellers and watched with
interest as they began to play musical chairs.
The two women who we found out later were sisters, stuck
together like glue sitting down next to a Mr. Pritchard who
exhibited more than one annoying habit, the least of which was
talking with his hands. They fluttered, stabbed, pointed and
generally kept themselves entertained throughout his discourse
on the merits of beef over fish.
Bonell hovered expectantly so I sat next to Mr McDonald, a
trader of spices and a young man called Jack Trimble who at
first glance seemed sensible and steady. As our meal progressed
my dining partners began to relax a little and we exchanged our
short histories. Mr McDonald was more interested in his meal
than talking and grunted a few replies to our polite questioning
and Jack was on his way to visit relatives on one of the many
islands, but this was as far as we progressed because sitting
diagonal to us was Mrs. Lancome and her laugh. As much as we
tried to have a conversation Mrs. Lancome prevented it. Dolly
Lancome held court over the entire long table and private
digressions were out of the question. Mr. Lancome sat meekly at
her side chomping his way through corned beef and vegetables
then comport and tinned cream and never uttered a word. His wife
made up for his lack of conversation with a diatribe of gossip,
of whom we didn’t have an idea, anecdotes of which we weren’t
interested and jokes that were more suited to the bar. It was,
we all hoped, only the excitement of the travel that found Dolly
in high spirits and not we feared a portent of things to come.
When Bonell had cleared away we moved to the bar cum lounge and
it is here friendships are forged. This evening there was but
one group, us against Dolly Lancome, but if the woman could see
a shunning she either hid it well or had the hide of a
rhinoceros. There were strained looks, quickly engaging
conversations and a rush for the next round of drinks as the
woman trotted up to the bar and proceeded to lampoon their small
selection of spirits.
“Not even a proper brandy for me favourite cocktail,” she said
to anyone who would listen. We all pretended we were deaf. Mrs
Lancome wasn’t backward in coming forward and over the remainder
of the evening we found they were travelling to Mr Lancome’s new
posting. He was a public servant. They had invested badly,
bought and sold two houses in various locations and really had
no choice but to as Mrs Lancome put it,
“Flop around and end up in some God forsaken jungle where the
natives eat each other.”
I could have pointed out that the Island they were travelling to
had all the amenities for civilized living including a decent
tennis club with a well stocked bar and an ex pat society that
was lively and boasted a theatre group, but I left Mrs Lancome
to her head hunters and cannibals, the thought much more
alluring. After the ten o’clock bell the evening broke up quite
quickly and I rather suspected there would be a few select
gatherings later that night in small aft quarters accommodation
with but one topic of conversation. I retired to my room which I
shared with Mr Foreman a cement contractor with a booming voice
and a barrel chest to roll the echo around. Lance Foreman was an
easy going chap and as he went through his toilet for the
evening he carried on a conversation about all the other
passengers and I thought he was going to include me in his
summations but when he had cleaned his teeth the chatter stopped
and he fell into bed and was asleep within three heartbeats. I
usually like to read a little before turning out the light but
this night my mind turned to the Lancome’s. She was a strange
kettle of fish there was no denying that and I vowed to keep my
council on the voyage lest I be drawn into an; us and them
showdown. They were a strange couple. She wore bright colours
and the latest hair style. Shining eyes, sparking jewellery, not
real I imagined as they said their tickets were paid for by his
company and the clothes for all their panache were home made.
Mrs Lancôme kept the small group of passengers entertained with
stories, anecdotes and the odd risqué joke. She was as they say
the life and soul of the party. Mr Lancome was her side kick. A
meek individual, with a sallow complexion and not too much hair
to hide a sunburnt head. I could well imagine he had hidden his
true character long ago and deferred to Dolly in all things. I
turned the light out hoping for a better day tomorrow.
The morning brought a small respite. Dolly was a late sleeper.
We neglected to see this would be inversely applied and Mrs
Lancome was one of life’s stayers because the bar never really
closed. Bonell had laid out the breakfast smorgasbord and within
the first half hour of the 8am bell all of the passengers bar
two were eating. There was a hushed feeling each knowing that if
they didn’t finish soon they might have to share their quiet
convivial surroundings with Mrs Lancome. Toast was quickly
eaten, bacon and eggs gobbled, porridge shovelled and tea and
coffee gulped. I have never been a fast eater, my digestive
system rebels and so I ate with my usual care and consideration.
The dining room emptied until just Mr Foreman and myself
remained and then the doors swung open and Mrs Lancome breezed
in followed by her husband. She eyed the picked over fare and
the two remaining diners and said,
“Well there had better be coffee or I just cannot function.” I
wondered what Dolly would look like if she could not function.
She summoned Bonell with a press of the bell and told Harold to,
“Get them to make a decent coffee,” Harold looked to Bonell and
smiled that sheepish little smile he had and Bonell disappeared
with the coffee pot.
“I’m just a miserable wreck without a coffee.” Mrs Lancome said.
I stood up to leave and Lance followed my lead.
“You’re not leaving are you? Heavens it’s only 9ish.” We
shrugged our shoulders like a vaudeville double act and headed
for the door. “Harold, make them stay.” Dolly commanded then
turned as Bonell returned with fresh coffee. “Who is for a fresh
pot?” Dolly implored.
I declined saying I had some papers to attend to and Lance said
he needed to send a telegram and we left.
“Whew, that was close.” Lance said thumbing the doorway we had
just scooted through. I nodded and went up on deck for a smoke.
The Arc Julius was an old ship with about a dozen layers of
paint over every bleeding rust mark. Her foredeck was laden with
bushels of coconuts and it was here I stood taking the sea air
and contemplating a day going over my paperwork.
“It’s Mr Stancome isn’t it?” I looked around to see one of the
sisters.
“Yes,” I hesitated. I had been introduced but her name slipped
my mind.
“Stella Wright,” and she smiled. She pulled a small cigarette
case from her jacket pocket and I obliged with a light. We
smoked in silence, the allegiance of the weed enough. Presently
Miss Wright finished and we stood looking at the sea.
“I must comment on your tact Mr Stancome. I admire someone who
can…shall we say keep their council.”
“It is a habit of a lifetime in the law I’m afraid. A poker face
is part of the course.” I looked at my watch.
“Are you in a hurry?”
“Work I’m afraid. Paperwork and all that sort of thing.” I
excused myself as Miss Wright said
“Lunch then?”
“Yes, lunch.”
The bell for lunch sounded at 1 o’clock sharp. Food becomes a
focal point on a boat with not much else to do and by the time I
had climbed the stairs to the dining room I was the last to
arrive. Mrs Lancome was holding court at the table relating her
morning without adequate facilities.
“And you’d never guess but they said we would just have to make
do, didn’t they Harold.” And she laughed, hee-hawing until
Bonell came in with the soup. While we waited for our main meal
Dolly related a rather funny story about Harold and a trip to
the butchers and although he was sitting right next to her he
remained unmoved by the anecdote. You got the feeling he was
just tagging along to make a double for tennis or a partner for
bridge. Dolly was giggling almost too much to deliver the punch
line, but he just sat. She managed to control herself enough to
eventually get it out and I watched Mr Lancome for some spark
but he just sat and picked his fingernails. Not a titter.
“ It was hilarious wasn’t it Harold?,” she asked him.
“ Yes hilarious,” Mr. Lancôme answered still studying his nails.
We tried to remain detached but it was an amusing story and as
our roast beef was served we were laughing at Mr. Lancome’s
expense. A deplorable situation but when Dolly put her mind to
it she could deliver a joke like a professional stand up
comedienne. We finished with brandy trifle and once again Dolly
kept us entertained this time relating a tale involving one of
her relatives and a punch bowl at a christening. I caught Miss
Wright’s eye as the dishes were cleared away and she understood
telling her sister she was going out for a smoke. I followed and
we met on the deck.
“Mabel, my sister says Dolly really is alright. You just have to
take people as they are.”
“Well that is certainly true Miss Wright.” I dragged heavily on
my cigarette.
“Oh call me Stella Mr Stancome.”
“Right Stella,” I tried out her name. “And you can call me
Humphrey if you like.”
“Humphrey. That is quite a moniker.”
“Indeed it is. My father’s name a matter of fact. Sort of runs
in the family.”
“Are you going back to the bar Humphrey?”
“Not just now, more work. And you?”
“Oh yes. Mable promised me a game of cards with the Lancomes.”
I let her go and enjoyed the balmy afternoon, the calm sea and
the relative quiet save the beating of the engines beneath my
feet. I strolled back to my cabin to knuckle down to my studies
and as I passed the lounge I heard laughing. It seemed Dolly was
holding court yet again.
The dinner bell sounded just as I had packed up my papers and so
with a quick freshen up I made my way to the bar. When I reached
the door and opened it, once again I noticed I was the last to
arrive and everyone was laughing, even Mr. McDonald had a hanky
out wiping his teary eyes. Stella called me over and try as she
might she only managed to relate half the story before
collapsing in laughter before the punch line. I waited and on
the fifth attempt Mrs Lancome stepped in and the whole audience
went up again in peels of laughter. I smiled indulgently at the
tale involving Mr Lancome and a trip to the casino, a pair of
heels and a hypnotist and made my way to the bar.
“Oh dearie, you had to be there.”
“I dare say.” I said taking charge of my whiskey and soda.
As we had had our main meal at lunch, dinner was a light affair
with a variety of sandwiches and hot finger food. The food I
have found on these freighters is as inventive and tasty as any
of the more established ships. We all sat and passed various
dished around while Mrs Lancome kept us entertained. Later at
the bar I managed to talk to Lance about his work before Dolly
roped people in for card games and then after one more quick
drink I slipped out before the end of an episode about Harold
and a Christmas cracker and retired to my cabin. It was well
into the night when Lance staggered in and flopped on his bunk.
He giggled once or twice and then was out to it. I fleetingly
thought about Harold and the ribbing he was receiving and then
fell once again into sleep.
Every meal we were kept entertained, Dolly having a captive
audience.
“It must be just a hoot travelling with Harold?” Stella said one
evening after a funny incident involving Harold and a policeman.
“Oh Harold,” she said a matter of fact, “ Harold doesn’t have a
sense of humour. None what so ever. You can be splitting your
sides about something and Harold the love doesn’t see it.”
“How does one go through life like that?” Jack asked.
“Oh I don’t know he gets by don’t you dear?” Harold nodded and
studied his scotch and water. “I met him and it was love at
first sight. Wasn’t it dear?” Harold nodded.
“Poor smuck,” Mr Foreman said one evening as the Lancome’s
arrived. I sipped my drink not wanting to add editorial comment
and further the conversation. I had travelled too much and too
far to not understand human nature just a little. Once one
comments sides are taken and cliques emerge and then the whole
trip is overshadowed on who sides with whom. Mrs. Lancome
gravitated towards the ladies sitting by the window and greeted
them with her customary
“You’ll never guess, as she sat down for a cracking story you
might wonder what could possibly happen on a Dutch trading ship
that only took twelve passengers.
You would think Harold might retire early and get away from the
ribbing his wife enjoyed so much. At first we enjoyed her jokes
but soon they became embarrassing as Harold always featured and
our laughs were at his expense. He was a good natured man and
took it, rarely even raising an eyebrow. I could imagine the
rows in their cabin as Mrs Lancome was put in her place. But for
her part she seemed oblivious to her victim’s feelings.
Mrs Lancome had found her place in the group and none could
usurp her reputation for a gay time. Other jokes were bandied
about in the dining room and later at the bar as the passengers
vied to top the bill, each joke funnier than the last. But Mrs.
Lancome always had one more, some even earning the adverb
hilarious. There was no denying they were funny anecdotes and
one might have laughed long and hard, which some of the
passengers and crew did, but when the victim was sitting in the
same room, it just didn’t seem right.
“I don’t know how she does it, night after night.” Stella said
to me as we enjoyed our cigarettes.
“Quite.”
“I mean, there is no denying they are funny. Mabel said she must
be making them up, but I’m not convinced. How about you
Humphrey?”
“I have not considered the question. Yes they are funny, but I
will reserve my judgement on the second proposition.”
“Spoken like a true lawyer.”
“A Magistrate actually. I am the resident for this area all the
way to the tip of Australia.”
“Oh.”
“Quite.” And we left it at that.
As our voyage came to its inevitable end Mrs Lancome’s audience
became weary. Then one evening we were assembled for our
penultimate dinner and Bonell decided to do a fair impersonation
of Dolly Lancome’s laugh. It was a daring act in the
circumstances and one designed to bring the house down. He stood
centre stage and hee-hawed, his teeth jutting out, his right
hand fluttering and a martini in his left hand and ended with an
enormous snort to riotous laughter and applause. It was this
cacophony that greeted Dolly and Harold as they walked through
the door and suddenly the room went quiet. Thick skin or no
Dolly could see who was the butt and she tried to bluff her way
by saying,
“Started without me? Now that’s not right.” And walked to the
table and sat down, directing Harold to get her a drink. Harold
obliged and I think I detected a slight wry smile on his face as
he placed his order with Bonell who was trying to keep from
giggling.
Our meal was a wonderful concoction of meatloaf and vegetable
stew, Bonell pulling out all the stops and to end he produced
ice-cream and tinned peaches. We ate with small talk and nary a
titter to be heard. Dolly had gone quiet and the passengers
subdued. It is customary to present a tipping jar to the steward
on this night and so after the meal we handed around the jar and
contributed, each complimenting Bonell on a stirling job. When
it came to Harold I noticed he was overly generous and wondered
at the largess. The evening was very quiet after the ruckus we
had been having over the course of the voyage and so I bade my
companions good night and retired.
I walked to the deck for my customary smoke and stayed quite a
while looking at the stars knowing I would be at work within
twenty four hours and savouring the last few moments of peace
and quiet. When I eventually made my way to my quarters I had to
walk past the Lancome’s cabin and I could hear laughing, a deep
booming laughter that seemed to want to go on and on. And it
could only be one person, a person who had waited patiently,
probably years, for someone to get their comeuppance.
(c) Hettie Ashwin
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