Let me share with you a gentleman of my acquaintance who has enriched my
life with the expression of his particular fixation. The name has been changed to protect the
innocent. I’ve called him Bill.
Bill is a man who calls a spade a spade. Some might say he is
bombastic; his firmly-held opinions are
delivered with force and finality. But this barge-like manner is tempered by a
deeply ingrained cheerfulness and goodwill.
I prefer to call his personality robust.
This rather large personality is housed in a short, rotund
little physique, which has a very round face, black hair and glasses.
When Bill smiles, it makes beguiling dimples in his rosy cheeks. Bill is
rather fond of his homemade brew (another of his passions), which gives him a
large tummy, or, as my father called it,
a “brewer’s goitre”. Over this vast expanse are stretched black braces, the better to hold up his pants.
Bill’s passion is pigeon racing. I find myself, after
the service one Sunday morning, standing next to him in the queue for morning
tea. So, there we are shuffling towards
the morning tea table. “How are your
pigeons going Bill” I ask. Bill’s response is immediate. (His language occasionally veers away from the
straight and narrow of the ladies-coffee-morning standard, and sets foot in the
boys-at-the-pub-on-a-Saturday-arvo level) “Well bugger me if I didn’t loose one
to a hawk yesterdee”. This is delivered
at full forte volume and those around blink and turn their heads, as they are
also bombarded with this disappointing news.
“No sooner out of the box, she was, and a blanky hawk came from no-where
and got ‘er”. “What a shame” says I, all concern and nodding
sympathy. With a little more gentle
inquiry from me, his voice takes on a more instructional tone.
He shifts his weight on to both his feet, spacing them slightly apart as
he does so. His hands come out of his pockets and he folds them across his body,
head slightly dropped, he becomes the
tutor, the teacher, the expert caught up in a subject he loves. “You’ve
got you’re racing stock, then you’ve got
your breeding cocks and broody hens.
Then I’ve got a few youngsters still getting used to flying with the
mob” (shouldn’t that be ‘flock’, but I
didn’t say it!). His little black eyes, inscribed with intensity, bore into
mine as he launches into the finer
points on housing, diet, breeding and of course, racing. I am as much transfixed by his passion for
it, as I am by the actual facts.
His unique sense of humour also displays this
bombastic quality. Bill is never content
with a little twitter or a giggle. Not
for him the polite, gentle chuckle. When he finds something funny, and he
frequently does, he twinkles up at me over his glasses, his face splits into an
endearing grin (he also has a dieresis) , then he applies himself to a
sonorous, booming belly laugh, during which his tummy shakes gently.
Bill’s other passion is home brew.
He can give you the low down on the best brands for different flavour or
keeping quality. His knowledge about ingredients, bottling techniques,
storage time, is extensive. He can tell
you which brand most tastes like Victoria Bitter…. And that’s something I was
dying to know. His laundry is full of
the paraphernalia of home brewing, and he loves it. Once, at a Parish Council meeting, we were
discussing the family camp and Anne was giving a run down on the facilities of
the venue. Bill asks, with just a hint
of anxiety, “What are the refrigeration facilities like Anne?” “Oh, quite adequate” she replies breezily. “Oh good” says Bill, relieved, “because… you know” (his voice takes on quite a wistful
quality) “I was thinking about how I’d get the home brew chilled”.
Then, further along in the meeting the accommodation facilities are discussed
“It’s dormitory style” says Anne, “but there’s room to put all the adolescent
boys in together, with perhaps an adult to supervise”. The full regalia of his personality comes
into force now. “ What?!” he shouts, “Sleep
in with that noisy lot? – I’m blowed if I’ll do it!”.
But you know, for all his rampaging, bombastic
personality, I cannot find it in my heart to censor him. He is an unfailingly honest man in every
way. No pretense; no shuttered secrets or veiled malice. There
is nothing snide or sneaky about Bill. What you see is what he is. And goodness knows, the world needs more of
that.
In conclusion then, what a joy it is for me to run
across these people. Could I encourage
you to keep an eye out for them too.
Look with fresh eyes on the people of your circle. You might just find an enriching and
delightful example of all the complex, eccentric, wonderful tapestry which is the essence of the common man.
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