PREWD

Being those portions of the Mousehold Press book 'Prewd and Prejudice' deemed too long, short, irrelevant, irregular or downright irreverent for inclusion in the original publication.

As Miss Pickerel toasted my teacakes, a privilege she greatly enjoys, I wondered why it is that Maud, who is of even poorer stock than Miss Pickerel, is so insensitive to the joys of servitude. Maud, after all, has every possible benefit in life. I spare her the trouble of making any decisions. I ensure that she is kept usefully occupied throughout her waking hours. I even make sure that she does not get too much rich food, which might spoil her unsophisticated digestion. Why, then, is she so ungrateful?

At this point Miss Pickerel rudely broke into my reverie to offer me some buttered bread. "It is all buttered on the top" she pointed out, rather pointlessly. I gave her one of uncle Wesley's looks. "I am fully aware which side my bread is buttered", I told her. Where else would it be buttered? Sometimes her pathetic attempts to please me can become a bit of a bore. I must bear in mind uncle's watchword: 'No Blessed Bilge'.

Clearly Miss Pickerel knew more about local ways than Mrs Prewd. In the Trunch area it was the custom to butter bread on the underside, and then to place one's jam or dripping on the top. The reasons for this are obscure, but Sid Kipper believes that it was done for soundly practical reasons:

While on the subject of bread I should perhaps say a bit about the bakery in the village, the Moonshine Bakery. There Percy Perch produced a range of bread made from local flour. There was rich, refined bread for the rich, refined occupants of the village, right through to rough, coarse bread for the likes of the Kipper family.

Sid: He made bread for us, every day, regular as clockwise. Of course, he was wasting his time, because we never used to buy any of it. We always made our own. Still do. My old mother, Dot, she does the bakering. She can do you a crusty loaf that's take your fillings out a treat. She does whole meal bread too. You get that if you're late home for dinner. She takes the whole meal - soup, meat, veg, pudding, custard and all - and she grinds it up in a peddle and mortar. Then she bakes it in the oven until it's hard as nails. And then she makes you eat it, whether you like it or not. Mostly you don't. Mostly you'd rather eat nails.

For the villagers of old bread was the staff of life. Today, of course, other foods have taken over, and the bakery has closed. As Sid rather wittily points out: "You just can't get the staff"!

Today, or rather this evening, Rev Mullet invited me to a concert. I was surprised to learn that there are such things in this benighted area, but he assured me that this would be a highlight of the cultural year. The event was held in the nearby Snipe Maltings, which are used especially for performances of the works of a local composer, Ben Jarmine-Brighton. Along with his bosom friend, Pierre Peters, he is trying to inject a little culture into the locality.

I cannot say that the evening was a great success. To begin with, the place was still working as the performance began, malting snipe I suppose. Consequently the air was filled with a variety of extraneous noise, choking dust, and the smell of burnt feathers. It seems that the composer and his friend had been unable to attract any orchestral players from London, and have been forced to make do with whatever local talent they can persuade to come forward. Imagine my surprise, then, when work on the snipe finally ceased, and the air cleared to reveal a rag-bag of 'musicians', including our own Miss Pickerel on violoncello, Rev Rudd engulfed by what I believe is called a Sousaphone, and several of Maud's contemptible relatives bowing, plucking and pumping a variety of outlandish instruments.

The resulting cacophony was such that I wished only for a sudden delivery of snipe to necessitate the immediate restart of malting. This was not to be, however. Instead, for two and a half interminable hours, they sawed and puffed their way through what the programme described as 'A selection of Experimental Works'. In the interests of science I must report that each experiment was an unmitigated failure. The composer, however, seemed blissfully unaware of this, and conducted this rough band with a smile on his face, shouting occasional orders to them through his ear trumpet.

The performance ended over a ten minute period, as each 'musician' came to what he or she fondly thought to be the end, completed a crescendo, and put down his or her instrument. Eventually only Miss Pickerel was still playing, caught up in some world of her own, and an infinite number of da capos. Finally she seemed satisfied, brought her bow down in one final grand sweep, and fell off her stool with a clatter. Whether it was the noise or the sudden movement that caught the composer's attention I do not know, but he stopped interminable beating, turned to his audience, and bowed a deep bow. A huge round of applause resulted, whether from musical ignorance or relief I know not, and care less.

As I walked out into the now dark night he was announcing "Another short piece". What I needed, however, was an exceedingly long, and quiet, peace.

I suspect that I may not have concealed my ingratitude from Rev Mullett. I answered his "I trust you enjoyed that little example of our local culture" with silence. If it means that he will not invite me to such an event ever again, then I shall only be grateful.

Mrs Prewd seems very hard on a group of people who were only doing their best to introduce to the Trunch area of what she professed to enjoy in London. Locally these performances were accounted a great success. Indeed, the reviewer from the Trunch Trumpet might almost have been at a different concert entirely!

The other night I was lucky enough to have been present at what must surely have been the cultural event of the year. Amongst those present were the Babcocks of Bradfield, the Misses Norris of Northrepps, Lord Trimingham and his lovely mistress, a Mrs Prewet of St Just, and a host of other local notables.

A marvellous supper was served, and many pronounced it the best they had had for some time. I believe some music was also played, but I fear I was far too busy to go and hear it, eating, as I was, a second helping of the superb malted snipe.

What Mrs Prewd failed to appreciate was this. These events were cultural in a social sense more than a musical one. By her rather abrupt behaviour she no doubt missed the chance of making acquaintances among those she would consider to be her own rank. She also proved herself a poor judge of music, for when the works in question reached her beloved London they were greatly praised by the critics of her time. "Not bad, if you like that sort of thing" was the Telegraph's verdict, while the Times critic, in his very first piece for the paper, went so far as to declare it "The best thing I have ever reviewed for these columns".

THE SNIPE MALTINGS TRUNCH

Autumn Programme 1904

September 1st

BAND OF THE BRIGADE OF GUARDS

(originally booked for North Walsham on April 8th)

September 2nd

JARMINE BRIGHTON - EXPERIMENTAL WORKS

(Supper will be provided)

September 12th to 17th

JARMINE-BRIGHTON - OPERA SEASON

Including:

BUDDY BOYS (about sailors)

PETER'S GRIME (about a dirty sailor)

FLOYE'S NUDE (about a naked sailor)

ALBERT KIPPER (comic opera - about a sailor)

October 2nd

VISITING COMPOSER - CECIL SHARP

3 p.m.: Lecture - "The significance of the bicycle in English folk-song".

7 p.m.: A programme of folk songs, arranged by the composer so as to be suitable for gentle-folk. Including, at the request of B J-B, a number of songs about sailors.

Doyley, of course, is a member of all the right clubs. How could it be otherwise? As a friend of mine, Mark O'Grouch, once said of someone else; "Any club that would have him as a member wouldn't let me join". I have often wondered what he meant, but now I feel I have grasped his meaning. After today I feel that I am a little nearer to Doyley. Would that he were a little nearer to me.

Much of the Silver-Darling family's success may be traced to their employment of another family, the Gages, who worked for them for centuries. In particular one of the Gages, Mort, invented a system whereby one could loan a person more money than they could afford to borrow, and then quite legally grab all of their property. This scheme proved a great success, and is undoubtedly the Silver-Darlings' greatest gift to the nobility. The family were given a title for their contribution to the English way of life. The faithful Mort was given an afternoon off.

The food was, in fact, quite good, and I managed to get enough of it to satisfy me without having to descend to the grabbing and shoving of those around me. Poor Rev Rudd, in contrast, was far too shy to get any food at all. He did manage to get some drink, however, having brought with him a hip flask of remarkable proportions. He seemed happy enough.

The music hall was very popular in north-eat Norfolk, and it had no brighter star than Jimmy 'Am I Boring You?' Kipper. Along with such acts as Alfie 'He Talks out Of His Arse' Andrex, he played the houses for many years. To Sid's great pride Jimmy's catchphrase has lived on, to be immortalised in Eric Partridge's 'Dictionary Of Catch Phrases' (RKP 1977), where the following may be found:

Jimmy had a brief spell of national fame in the eighteen nineties, but was in decline by Mrs Prewd's time. At his height he strutted the boards with songs such as 'My Old man Said Don't Follow Me, I'm Lost', and 'Two Lovely Backsides'. For a fuller review of his career I am indebted to Dave and Al Capone, who have allowed the following to be reprinted from their '100 Music Hall Artists You've Never Heard Of':

Jimmy Kipper began his theatrical career as a juggler. His act consisted of balancing a plate of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, mashed potatoes and two seasonal vegetables on top of a long pole which rested on his chin. Meanwhile he would juggle three oranges, all the time balancing on a giant pumpkin. The future looked promising until his mother insisted he stop playing with this food.

Soon afterwards he became a ventriloquists dummy, but was fired for forgetting his lines. Then, for a while, he worked the fairgrounds with his father, 'Gripper'. Gripper would offer a sovereign to any man, woman or child who was prepared to come into the ring and knock the living daylights out of Jimmy. The act seems to have been very popular. On the few occasions when there were no takers Gripper would knock the living daylights out of Jimmy himself. Unfortunately Gripper found himself giving away more sovereigns than he took, and in any case Jimmy was finding the role too undemanding. Even he could not forget lines such as "Ouch!", "Ooof!", and "Blimey, that hurt!". So he set off for pastures new.

What he actually found, after various abortive attempts to find a successful act, were postures new, since he met and fell in love with a chiropractor called Maisey. This was the start of several unsuccessful marriages for Kipper. Some were unsuccessful because he forgot to turn up at the church. For other he did turn up, but had an attack of stage fright, or forgot his lines and dried up at the altar. His fourth wife took to drink, which grieved Jimmy tremendously, as it was his drink that she took to.

After his brief national success with a pier diving act he returned to the small halls. The final straw came when his fifth wife received more applause than he did one night at the Trunch Empire. He wouldn't have minded, but she was only sweeping the stage after the elephants had performed, yet was called back for three encores. Suicide seemed the only way out for a while, but somehow he couldn't make his wife see his point, especially as she was now topping the bill all over the country as Mabel 'Char Very Much' Mop.

Jimmy divorced her, and retired to an old railway carriage in a siding at Trunch Central Station. Tired from years of touring he never moved from the spot again, except for occasional episodes of shunting.

Doyley Silver-Darling and Maud Kipper were clearly deceiving Mrs Prewd, right under her nose. Not literally, of course. Her nose, by all accounts, was not big enough for that. Indeed, her husband told his brother "The smallness of Miriam's nose is undoubtedly her sole redeeming feature".

Sid: Well, I reckon her eyes were blinded by rose tinted spectacles. The reason none of it ever came to her ears is just proof that we only see what we want to see.

It is plain that Doyley Silver-Darling's tastes were for something quite different to Miriam Prewd. In a letter dated September 17th 1904 he wrote to Sir Alfred Friend:

How terrible for you to have to be in Town at this time of year, just when all the misty fruits and mellow whatnots are about to do whatever it is they do, and the girls are out nutting in the woods and hedges. Give me a red cheeked country girl every day, I say. Better still, twice a day. They knock those stuffy, stuck-up city women, with all their airs and gloves, into a cocked hat. And damn me if that isn't what they're wearing with their gloves this year - cocked hats! More like cuckolded hats in most cases I dare say. And those damned gloves. Ever since old Henry invented those finger print thingies the other year they wear gloves all the time. Who wants to go walking glove in glove? I won't wear them unless I have to. Not on my hands, at any rate.

It is not too much to suppose, surely, that the hands which Mrs Prewd was holding out so yearningly were most assuredly well gloved.

Widow Hake's grand daughter, herself now tragically widowed, still lives in See View Cottage. She won't say a word about Farmer Trout. Or any of the other men I have seen calling round, no doubt to do odd jobs for her around the house. But then, as Sid told me, "In a village like this everybody's entitled to their privates".

The Temperance Two, as they were now known, were pressing on with their campaign to stamp out drinking, despite the loss of Mrs Prewd's support. Every night they preached their gospel at a different pub in the area. They actually had a programme of their circuit printed, with their itinerary on one side, and a map of their appearance, labelled 'Circuit Diagram', on the other.

They managed to keep up this punishing schedule of drinking and touring for two whole years before the little curate eventually had to go into hospital to be dried out. The doctors expressed disbelief that any liver could take such punishment, but Ralph Rudd lived to an extremely ripe old age. He always claimed that his longevity was due to his giving up all alcohol, which he finally did in 1946.

From the eighteenth century it had also been a day of muck spreading of a different sort. This tradition was invented by Cuthbert, 14th Lord Silver-Darling, at a time when the whole village was awash with tittle-tattle of all sorts, much of it about him. It was said that no sooner did you turn your back than you had a knife stuck in it. Cuthbert declared that this must stop forthwith, and be reserved for one day of the year. Thus was born a tradition which the natives took to like ducks to water. Sid Kipper tried to dish the dirt with the best of them:

People used to spend weeks preparing good rumours to be spread on the day. All through the hot days of harvest they would think up the juiciest stories they could. The idea was to come up with one so good that it went round the village and came back to you before the day was out. My uncle George was an expert. His best one was when he started a rumour that he was the one that nicked the lead off the church roof., Of course he was the one that nicked the lead off the church roof, but no-one would believe him afterwards. They were convinced that was just a rumour he'd made up.

I've never been that successful at it. I suppose that shows I'm basically straight and honest. I did once persuade everyone that I was going to buy a round of drinks in the Old Goat one night, but that wasn't such a good idea. There were an awful lot of people there.

The old tradition has died out in recent years, with the influx of lawyers, solicitors and the like into the area. Their tendency to litigation has put an end to the harmless country fun. It has not, however, put an end to them having muck mysteriously spread all over their front doorsteps.