Rural Ramblings 2: Spontaneous singing

20 Feb 2007

Patrick's blethers and ramblings have always been popular with Rural Gateway users, but he recently got a mention in The Independent's Homes and Property section and was also quoted, on the subject of slugs, in a gardening book by Jane Perrone.

By Patrick Vickery

I was pruning shrubs when a group of nursery age children passed by. One little chappie broke into spontaneous song: "He's chopping down trees, he's chopping down trees". He sang at the top of his voice and the other twenty or so children joined in.

Now there's a distinction between pruning (which has to be done) and chopping down trees (which doesn't always have to be done), but try explaining that to a group of environmentally-aware small people. Not as easy as it sounds, you know. So I didn't. I chopped and they sang.

On another note, one must always be aware how alarmingly indiscrete these small people can be. Some years ago, walking down Tain High Street, a little chap looked me in the eye and snorted: "You look like a turkey." I was speechless.

Undoubtedly an excellent conversation stopper, should you ever need one, but not advisable if you're over a certain height and age - it could be taken the wrong way. I took it well, of course, but admittedly spent the evening studying my face in the mirror for turkey-like resemblances.

'Turkey face' is in the top ten for conversation stoppers, of course, but I did encounter another top ten candidate some years ago. I went to pay the Poll Tax, Community Charge or whatever it's called and stood quietly in line humming a Bruce McGregor tune (Sir Henri Laphroig Dinoir of Cluthiebootle) and minding my own business.

As I hummed that diddly diddly bit (the Phil Cunningham accordion bit that sounds decidedly French), I felt bristles in my ear: a bristly moustache, it was, attached to the face of an elderly gentleman. I grunted something unintelligible and moved away, only the bristly moustache returned with a vengeance, followed by a sideways whack on the head with his wallet (which luckily was a flimsy affair causing no lasting ill effects beyond a redness the size of an after-eight mint above my left ear). Not the sort of behaviour you expect from an elderly pensioner on Council property though, is it? Good grief.

"War pension, war pension, doesn't go far!" he barked. "Left half my foot in Dunkirk, you know!"

What an excellent conversation stopper. And yes, I quite agree, up the war pension, that's what I say, what's a whack around the head and a bristly moustache in your ear in comparison to the sacrifices made by the likes of himself? So I grunted something unintelligible again, as you do, and retreated to the bakers shop for an Apple Danish.

Now back to spontaneous outbreaks of singing. Certain situations lend themselves to this. I was at a football match some years ago, Ross County versus Inverness Caley Thistle, the game was nearly over, a lull in activity on the pitch, when a young guy appeared in the main stand with two dozen pies. Got them cheap, you see, end of the game, unsold, caterers packing up, something like that.

As he returned to his seat, one old chappie broke into spontaneous song: "Who ate the pies, who ate the pies," he bellowed, whereupon the other two thousand or so fans joined in, a chanting that reverberated around the stadium and attracted much attention from the startled players (in particular the more sturdy ones).

The pie man was clearly delighted by such a reaction and generously shared his pies with those around him. They, in turn, acknowledged his generosity by chanting "Who ate the pies, who ate the pies, we did, we did" with great gusto.

Now undoubtedly the moral of this tale is crystal clear. Never eat more than one pie at a time in public, or for that matter prune shrubs when groups of small people are present, for otherwise you might - just might - incite others to break into spontaneous song. It's as simple as that.

This article first appeared in the Ross-shire Journal and on the Rural Gateway website

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