The Curmudgeon

In his younger days as a merchant seaman, he saw a lot of the world and realises that, most of the time it is in a pretty sad state and there's not a lot that you and I can do about it.

On a quiet night in The Beggars' this week, however, he was pretty downhearted at the latest move by the Germans to take over Europe. Their latest attack on the English way of life, if the newspapers are to believed, is that we Brits will have to give up our bank holidays.

The reason: in these days when young men in red braces can move millions across the world at the touch of a button, it is necessary, say the Germans, that everyone should work the same banking hours. So, in future, British bank hols must go.

Now Owd Tom, who fought the Germans for four long years, is surprisingly pro-Gerries, as he calls them. He prefers to hate the French, who he never had to fight. But most of all, he hates young men in red braces who drink champagne at lunchtime and drive home at nights in Gerry 'Porches'.

'They've never done an 'onest day's work in their lives,' he told the Innkeeper. 'Who gives a bleep if they 'ave to give up thar 'olidays?'

'You don't understand, Tom,' said the Innkeeper patiently. 'We might all have to give up our bank holidays and that could be very serious for the pub.'

Tom took his foul pipe from his mouth and looked across the bar in genuine horror: 'What d'tha mean. Serious for the pub? How can the Gerries harm t'Beggars'?'

'Well, Tom, I know that you and the Curmudgeon here do your best to keep us in business but the fact of the matter is that, without the food trade we do on bank holidays, this place would be pretty uneconomic. That's what keeps us going for the rest of the year....'

Tom was now genuinely aghast. He had fought the Germans to preserve ancient institutions like King, Country, Yorkshire County Cricket Club ... and the village pub.

'Tha's 'avin' us on, lad,'he gasped. 'Tha' means to say that Gerry could close this place down? I dunna believe it...'

He stumped off into the night, slamming the door behind him so hard the building shook. It was windy that night, and Tom's old Fordson tractor makes more noise than the average rock group at the best of times.

But I distinctly I heard the sounds of 'We're the soldiers of the Queen, me Boys' sung defiantly into the gale.

'Surely it's not that bad?' I asked when the sound of the tractor faded into the night.

'No,' said The Innkeeper with a big wink. 'But Tom spends all his time winding up other people so, from time to time, I give his winder a little twist.'

This could be a devious ploy. If you read in the papers any day now a story of a lone, elderly soldier launching a suicide attack on the Reichstag, remember you read it here first.

--The Curmudgeon is a satirical column based on a fictitious character in a mythical village.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.