Gerald Durrell - The Corfu Trilogy

And they didn’t mind at all,

For, as Paddy pointed out to them,

’Twas better than none at all.

O folderol and folderay,

A sailor’s life is grim,

So you’re only too delighted,

If you get a bit excited,

Whether it’s with her or him.’

‘Really, Larry!’ said Mother, outraged, ‘is this your idea of entertainment?’

‘Why pick on me?’ asked Larry, astounded. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘You invited him, disgusting old man. He’s your friend.’

‘I can’t be responsible for what he sings , can I?’ asked Larry irritably.

‘You must put a stop to it,’ declared Mother. ‘Horrible old man.’

‘He certainly twirls his hat round very well,’ said Theodore enviously. ‘I wonder how… he… er… does it?’

‘I’m not interested in his hat – it’s his songs.’

‘It’s a perfectly good music hall ditty,’ said Larry. ‘I don’t know what you’re going on about.’

‘It’s not the sort of music hall ditty I’m used to,’ said Mother.

‘O, Blodwyn was a Welsh girl,

She came from Cardiff city,

And all the boys they loved her well,

Though she only had one titty,’

carolled the captain, getting into his stride.

‘Repulsive old fool!’ spat out Mother.

‘For the Welsh boys there,

Are boys of sense,

And didn’t they all agree,

One titty is better than two sometimes,

For it leaves you one hand free.

O folderol and folderay,

A sailor’s life is grim…’

‘Even if you don’t consider me, you might consider Gerry,’ said Mother.

‘What d’you want me to do? Write the verses down for him?’ asked Larry.

‘D’you… you know… hear a sort of tapping ?’ asked Theodore.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Larry, you know perfectly well what I mean.’

‘I wondered if he might be ready… um… the trouble is, I can’t quite remember the signal,’ Theodore confessed.

‘I don’t know why you always have to pick on me,’ said Larry. ‘Just because you’re narrow-minded.’

‘I’m as broad-minded as anybody,’ protested Mother indignantly. ‘In fact, sometimes I think I’m too broad.’

‘I think it was two slow and three quick,’ mused Theodore, ‘but I may be mistaken.’

‘O, Gertrude was an English lass,

She came from Stoke-on-Trent,

But when she loved a nice young lad,

She always left him bent.’

‘Listen to that!’ said Mother. ‘It’s beyond a joke. Larry, you must stop him.’

‘ You’re objecting, you stop him,’ said Larry.

‘But the boys of Stoke

They loved a poke,

And suffered in the bed,

For they said that Gert

Was a real prime skirt,

But she had a left-hand thread.’

‘Really, Larry, you carry things too far. It’s not funny.’

‘Well, he’s been through Ireland, Wales and England,’ Larry pointed out. ‘He’s only got Scotland to go, unless he branches out into Europe.’

‘You must stop him doing that!’ said Mother, aghast at the thought.

‘I think, you know, perhaps I ought just to open the box and have a look,’ said Theodore thoughtfully. ‘You know, just as a precaution .’

‘I wish you’d stop carrying on like a female Bowdler,’ said Larry. ‘It’s all good clean fun.’

‘Well, it’s not my idea of good clean fun,’ exclaimed Mother, ‘and I want it stopped.’

‘O, Angus was a Scottish lad,

He came from Aberdeen…’

‘There you are, he’s got to Scotland now,’ said Larry.

‘Er… I’ll try not to disturb the captain,’ said Theodore, ‘but I thought perhaps just to take a quick glance…’

‘I don’t care whether he’s got to John o’Groats,’ said Mother. ‘It’s got to stop.’

Theodore had tiptoed over to the box and was now feeling in his pockets worriedly; Leslie joined him and they discussed the problem of the entombed Kralefsky. I saw Leslie trying ineffectually to raise the lid when it became obvious that Theodore had lost the key. The captain sang on unabated.

‘O, Fritz, he was a German lad,

He came from old Berlin…’

‘There!’ said Mother. ‘He’s started on the Continent! Larry, you must stop him!’

‘I wish you’d stop carrying on like the Lord Chamberlain,’ said Larry, annoyed. ‘It’s Margo’s cabaret, tell her to stop him.’

‘It’s a mercy that most of the guests don’t speak good enough English to understand,’ said Mother. ‘Though what the others must think…’

‘Folderol and folderay,

A sailor’s life is grim…’

‘I’d make life grim for him if I could,’ said Mother. ‘Depraved old fool!’

Leslie and Theodore had now been joined by Spiro, carrying a large crowbar; together they set about the task of trying to open the lid.

‘O, Françoise was a French girl,

She came from the town of Brest,

And, oh, she lived up to its name,

And gave the boys no rest.’

‘I do try to be broad-minded,’ said Mother, ‘but there are limits.’

‘Tell me, my dears,’ asked Lena, who had been listening to the captain with care. ‘What is left-hand thread?’

‘It’s a… it’s a… it’s a sort of English joke,’ said Mother desperately. ‘Like a pun, you know?’

‘Yes,’ explained Larry. ‘Like you say a girl’s got a pun in the oven.’

‘Larry, that’s quite enough,’ said Mother quellingly. ‘The captain’s bad enough without you starting.’

‘Mother,’ said Margo, having just noticed. ‘I think Kralefsky’s suffocating.’

‘I do not understand this pun in oven,’ said Lena. ‘Explain me.’

‘Take no notice, Lena, it’s only Larry’s joke.’

‘If he’s suffocating, ought I to go and stop the captain’s song?’ asked Margo.

‘An excellent idea! Go and stop him at once,’ said Mother.

There were loud groaning noises as Leslie and Spiro struggled with the heavy lid of the chest. Margo rushed up to the captain.

‘Captain, Captain, please stop,’ she said. ‘Mr Kralefsky’s… Well, we’re rather worried about him.’

‘Stop?’ said the captain startled. ‘Stop? But I’ve only just begun.’

‘Yes, well, there are more urgent things than your songs,’ said Mother frigidly. ‘Mr Kralefsky’s stuck in his box.’

‘But it’s one of the best songs I know,’ said the captain aggrievedly. ‘It’s the longest, too – one hundred and forty countries it deals with – Chile, Australia, the Far East, the lot. A hundred and forty verses!’

I saw Mother flinch at the thought of the captain singing the other hundred and thirty-four verses.

‘Yes, well, some other time perhaps,’ she promised untruthfully. ‘But this is an emergency.’

With a splintering noise like a giant tree being felled, the lid of the chest was finally wrenched open. Inside lay Kralefsky still swathed in ropes and chains, his face an interesting shade of blue, his hazel eyes wide and terrified.

‘Aha, I see we’re a bit… er… you know… premature,’ said Theodore. ‘He hasn’t succeeded in untying himself.’

‘Air! Air!’ croaked Kralefsky. ‘Give me air!’

‘Interesting,’ said Colonel Ribbindane. ‘Saw a pygmy like that once in the Congo… been trapped in an elephant’s stomach. The elephant is the largest African quadruped…’

‘Do get him out,’ said Mother agitatedly. ‘Get some brandy.’

‘Fan him! Blow on him!’ shrilled Margo, and burst into tears. ‘He’s dying, he’s dying, and he never finished his trick.’

‘Air… air,’ moaned Kralefsky as they lifted him out of the box.