When my grandfather started out as a rubber planter, he basically lived deep in the Malayan jungle, with only his indented labourers for company. The only contact he had with the outside world was a once a month delivery of supplies which included food. The first couple of weeks after this delivery were times of relative culinary delights, however as the fresh foods were eaten the choices remaining became fewer and fewer. In the last couple of days before the next delivery my grandfather was reduced to curried stale toast. One time when his appetite deserted him, he instead took the opportunity to go for a walk to take his mind off food. When he passed the part of the plantation where the coolies stayed he smelled something that seemed absolutely divine. Of course he was drawn inexorably towards it. He was greeted kindly by the coolies who were glad to see him, and he asked what it was that they were eating. Of course a bowl was presented to him and he began to eat. It was wonderful and he was rapturous. He asked again what it was, but the inadequacies of language prevented an immediate translation. He finished his helping and eventually one of the coolies found a name for the dish. It was “Curried Rat” My grandfather immediately found a very close and private place where he was violently ill. Sometimes it is better not to know, and prudent not to ask. After all he was looking a gift rat in the mouth! 

   One of my cousins did boxing at school, and was good enough to represent his school against other schools. When it came time for the meet against their greatest rivals he heard that the opponent in his weight division was absolutely fearsome, routinely wiping the floor with everyone he faced! My cousin had no illusions that his skills were going to be up to the challenge, and not wishing to be a floor mat, he looked for a legitimate and face-saving way to avoid him.
   Weight was the answer; if he couldn’t make the weight he would be OK. He therefore decided to put on a few pounds; he started a diet which included seconds of everything, and lots of cream (British double cream is an extremely fattening food, almost as calorific as caviar!) and made an absolute pig of himself. He lazed around, and even refrained from going to the bathroom in the couple of days prior to the weigh-in. He had done his absolute best to avoid the destroyer!
   Come the weigh-in, he confidently stepped onto the scales only to be greeted with the cry “Oh well done, jolly good show! you’ve made the weight!” from the coach. (Excuse the pompous English, but this was over eighty years ago and people actually said things like that!)

   As you may have gathered he had the shit comprehensively beaten out of him. So remember not every diet works!

One of my godparents trained for the priesthood, but as soon as he came into money he decided that it was not to be his vocation, and recanted his vows and chucked it in. He did however have a lot of friends from that time, so my family got to know some quite well. My mother and aunt with whom I lived said that all of their men friends were either Clergymen or gay. Or both. Since we lived in the Kemp town part of Brighton, which is in fact the gay capital of England, I suppose this is not too much of a surprise. 

My godfather’s closest friend from that time had been in South Africa, where he had been offered a Bishopric, but he had declined instead choosing to return to the UK and become vicar at St. Albans, Holborn. This particular appointment was more than it seemed as traditionally the vicar of this church also is ex officio advisor to the Archbishop of Canterbury on matters relating to the High Church. His church was very “High” Instead of an organ they had an Orchestra, anytime you crossed the nave you had to cross yourself and genuflect, when the communion line stopped for a full rail, all the people in line had to wait on one knee. The procession usually consisted of thirteen celebrants, one of whom swung a censer with so much incense in it that anyone could have smoked anything and it wouldn’t have been noticed! 

Of course the attraction for someone of the priest’s inclination was that they had different robes for virtually every occasion, and got off on changing garments, a lot of which were (for a priest!) quite dashing. I always relaxed about him secure in the knowledge that although he had a curate that he referred to as “Maude”, a couple of colleagues who were also referred to by distaff nicknames, and he casually threw out “Gladys” (Which to be fair was a pseudonym in quite common usage!) when mentioning the then Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster, that I had been told that he was much too responsible to make a pass at me as I was a child of friends, and a minor to boot!

You see he was an Anglican! 

One branch of my family came from Australia, and my great grandfather had a very interesting and varied life, but I believe that many people in those days had a varied and interesting life as things were not as structured as they are now.
   My great grandfather ran away from home at the age of ten, and spent two years living with the aborigines in Tasmania. When the railway was first built he and a friend went to look at the train as it went past, but before it got near them they were already running away in terror. He tried his hand at a variety of enterprises, but essentially struck gold with his daughters. One married my grandfather who was at the time obscenely rich, another married a mining engineer who also made a fortune and the third, who earned the accolade “The Perth Belle” (admittedly at a time when the population was only five thousand or so!) married another extremely rich and very much (more than twice her age!) older rancher. This last one surprisingly was the one he crapped out on as the husband got ill and died, but between the time that he first got ill and his end the law on inheritance was changed. Previously the wife had dower rights as to one third of the estate. Afterwards she had none. Since he was in no fit state to alter his will to include her, and the family understandably viewed her as a gold-digger, she got squat.  (She became the “aunt from hell”, this may have made her a bit annoyed!)
   My grandmother was first a journalist and then an author, and she wrote a book that the publishers in Australia said was too good to be published in Australia, and they recommended that she bring it to England to be published. She embarked on a ship called the “Pericles”. It sank, and so did the only copy of my grandmother’s book. She never did get around to re-writing it as she met my grandfather, and she then had no need! As a typical Australian, she called up her bookie and bet the horses every day of her life!
   My great-grandfather therefore followed his other daughters to England where he turned his hands to a variety of enterprises and played poker for a living (you knew there would be some more gambling involved somewhere!) when he was not otherwise employed. I don’t think he actually made much money at it – after all he had my grandfather to tap, but he did acquire a certain notoriety. His main claim to fame thereafter was that there was a letter addressed to
    “Tom Brown of Australia
          London”
He got it.

Did you ever have a relation that really, really embarrassed you, that did something absolutely ghastly, and didn’t even realize it? You may have, but certainly no one can embarrass you like relations can!
I had a great aunt who lived in Brook Street in Mayfair and my mother and aunt took it in turns to visit her on Tuesdays. Both would have been welcome, but they managed to go one at a time thus undergoing the ordeal only once a fortnight. The great aunt thought that they were being noble, doing housework instead of enjoying a nice free meal with her. This was very far from the truth.
My great aunt was at least eighty, and was infirm to the extent that one of her legs was 2 inches shorter than the other, the result of a hip problem, so she walked with a stick and when assistance in the form of a convenient younger adult was available, she would hold on to them.
To reach her club, which was quite close they had to walk across Grosvenor Square, site of the American Embassy, and not all the diplomats and officials there were Caucasian. A fervent prayer would be made that no black people would be seen as they made their painfully slow way across this wide and busy place. If they did she would stop, raise her stick up in the air and trumpet to the extent of her available lungpower “OH MY GOD IT’S ANOTHER OF THOSE HORRIBLE BLACK PEOPLE, THE GOVERNMENT SHOULDN’T LET THEM IN THE COUNTRY”  (She ignored the fact that she was in fact an Australian!) If the immaculately garbed diplomat was close enough she would wave her walking stick at them. My mother could not even pretend that she didn’t know her as she had a viselike grip on her. There is not much you can say or do to a crippled old lady, who acts as if some of her marbles are missing, so this scenario was inevitably repeated to the continuing and unavoidable shame of my nearest and dearest!

How many times have you heard someone say something that is really out of place and just plain dumb? I have a cousin who has now been married six times and has got a couple of unused marriage licenses as well! A few years ago I was invited by her mother to come to a dinner and meet the next prospective husband (No 6). During this dinner, with just the four of us at the table, the prospective bride said “ Do you know how many times Zsa Zsa Gabor was married as I want to beat her record!” The prospective husband did not say anything, however I am sure it will come as no surprise to anyone that she is no longer married to him. The current beau at least has learned that marriage doesn’t help! 

I have come across a lot of slightly odd people in my life, some of whom have interesting and different backgrounds, however “Goo” probably takes the cake.
   “Goo”, whom I always thought of as “Gou” when I was young was Romanian, in fact he was a younger son of a Romanian noble. Basically he had absolutely no idea when it came to money, as whenever he was short he would simply send to his father’s estate and a servant would deliver a roll of gold coins to him.
   Since he was a younger son, he entered the Foreign Service, and at the outbreak of World War II he was third secretary to the Court of St. James. Very swiftly it became obvious that a return to his native country was not a sensible option, and more, I believe, to maintain appearances than anything else he became the “White” Romanian Ambassador. That means that he was the representative of the Government-in-exile of the former King. He was suddenly penniless, and the only job he had did not pay buttons.
   What do you suppose he did; well he married an heiress, an American girl named Mitchell who was a scion of the Marshall Field department store chain, the downside to this was that the family immediately cut them off without a cent, as they did not approve. It was actually a love match, as they would not otherwise have stayed together, but now he needed a job.
   He was very fortunate, as Romanians of his class did not normally speak Romanian, they spoke French! His father had urged him to learn the language as at one time it was thought that he would become a lawyer. This facility for his native tongue became the only thing that kept them out of abject poverty. He became the Romanian voice of Radio Free Europe, broadcasting daily into Romania, and countering the communist influences in that country. I guess we’ll never know how much success he had, but there was one instance when he was sure some Bulgarian thugs had tried to run him over. Since this was at a time when the Bulgarians were being particularly nasty overseas, I believe that it was a genuine attempt, and not the frightened fantasies of an old beaten man. I have taken this incident to mean that he was somewhat successful, although he may not have taken it as a sort of backhanded compliment!
   “Goo” kept up with the news; in fact he kept the news. He would have had a lot more room in his apartment if he had not devoted one room solely to back copies of the Times – 40 years worth! Nowadays we have the internet, back then we didn’t.
   Another aspect of his upbringing I found fascinating – he had been brought up to pee only twice a day – once in the morning and once at night! Supposedly it was a sign of manliness in his culture. Prostate problems anyone?
   Finally I eventually found out why his name was “Goo”. This slightly shrunken old man whose hands were covered with age spots told me. “When I was a baby I went “Goo, Goo” all the time and ever since then I have just been called “Goo” I never knew his first name, in fact I don’t believe anyone ever used it, but his last was Constantinescu.