In previous posts I talked about the thrill of receiving an elegantly hand written letter from my cousin Bill Tarbuck in the West Midlands of England. It’s historically a working class region – and in many ways remains so. Bill (a hearty 80-something) retains the tradition of the Literary Letter – prose written with a thoughtful style that’s all but disappeared in the Twitter Age. My world stops spinning when a letter from Bill arrives in the post. Inside the envelope is a journey in time and place.
This month’s letter featured a story retold by Bill that I want to share. You’ll miss the visual experience of words written in straight and careful lines of cursive with embellished initial letters that were once taught as part of penmanship. But his scripted remembrances speak to his prowess as a story teller and much loved denizen of the British Legion Social Club where he’s held court Friday nights for more than 60 years and of the iconic Duke of Cambridge Pub in Short Heath, his Thursday haunt. On my topic of Optimistic Aging - it speaks to one of many myths about growing older and helplessly forgetful.
“In our past written exchanges you have often complimented me on my somewhat quaint method of letter writing. Thank you again for your kind sentiments, but I make no claims for outstanding penmanship. On the contrary, I am none other than typical of my generation.
However, I am slightly proud of one letter written thirty years ago. You have met Ted and Ray, my midweek drinking pals – so here is the story: Before going out one evening to meet up with the aforementioned duo, I had listened to a radio sports programme about an important cricket match between two county teams, Somerset and Yorkshire. The commentator was Richie Benaud (pronounced Benno), a very famous Australian cricket captain and later a very respected radio and TV journalist.During the broadcast an unusual incident in the play occurred and Benaud made a rare but understandable mistake in the commentary.
Later that evening in the pub, I mentioned that Benaud had made an uncharacteristic error. Ray said, “Here we go again Tarbuck, you get more senile by the hour. Benaud was not even commenting during that phase of the match.”
You may have noticed, Ray and Ted are twenty years younger than yours truly, so through the years in good natured banter I was always (And still am) the senile old gentleman.
Walking home that evening I thought, am I really getting that old? No, I am sure of my version, but how do I prove it? I know. I will write Benaud a letter. Cheeky maybe, but it might succeed.
I took very great care in formulating that letter written with a rapidiograph pen and India Ink … The look on Ray’s face when I handed him the reply (Benaud wrote “Yes, I was commenting at the time …) about three weeks later was worth the effort.
When similar situations have arisen since then, Ray has a stock remark. “Be careful when you contradict Tarbuck. He writes letters, you know!”
Love and very best wishes,
Cousin Bill "
In the West Midlands, interactions such as these take place in pubs where folks meet for a pint (properly pronounced “point” in the dialect) and warm companionship. The younger set generally defers to the elders and listens respectfully to stories from the ages. In an era of speed, multi tasking and wireless anonymity, here in the C'olonies' where we disparage the concept of growing old - pub culture and Cousin Bill Tarbuck’s letters from the Olde World remind me savor the precious gifts of time.
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| Ted, Ray and Bill Tarbuck at the Duke of Cambridge |
