No. 1225: The winners
Jaspistos reports: Competitors were asked for an imaginary letter of patronising advice from a centenarian to someone of 99 whom he or she has known for most of their lives.
Such a letter might well have occurred in either of those two superb comic novels about the senile, Muriel Spark's Memento Mori and William Trevor's The Old Boys. In the former, indeed, there is a memorable telegram from one ancient and argumen- tative literary person to another: 'You are fantastically wrong about Dowson.' There was a little too much cheap one-upmanship on the subject of dentures and hearing-aids, but most of you made excellent play with the typical centenarian qualities — spry malice, childish competitiveness and crashingly obvious wisdom. Among the best put-downers were: 'It augurs well that you have equalled, in years, your correct golfing handicap' (Belle R. Welling), 'Got a mention in the Spectator Comp. the other day. Never see you in print now' (W. Hazell), and 'Dorothea is in splendid form, making jam for the great-grandchildren. I daresay that boy of yours must be ready to retire from the priesthood about now' (Fergus Porter). Among the neatest parting shots were `R-K7 mate. With kindest regards' (Richard Parlour) and 'Your little gift was so kind, but my memory is ex- cellent' (Peggy Sandars). Could it have been The Oxford Dictionary of Quota- tions?
The five winners below are awarded nine pounds each.
My dear Wilfred, It was very good to see you again yesterday, though I fear our mood was lighter than befitted a funeral — albeit Helen's. Before it slips my mind I hope a word of advice will not be taken amiss. After all these years I think it right that I be frank with you. You mentioned over a glass of that excellent port I once introduced to your house that you are contemplating a special celebration for your next birthday. I do hope you will not repeat the indiscretions of your 21st. You had to live with the consequences of that oc- casion until only last Tuesday! When you reach my age you too will realise that life is more than the pursuits of the flesh. One's hundredth birth- day does call for a measure of dignity. Oscar.
(Rob Hull) Dear Fortescue, Well, well, you old two-figure tnan, so you pro- pose next year to join the Club, greeted by a telegram from the Queen! I hope you do, dear fellow, though it will of course be as a Junior Member. I shall, as in the dear days gone by, be a couple of forms ahead of you: in the Sixth while you lurk unnoticed in the Lower School. Why did I pick you out originally, I sometimes wonder. Because you looked up to me so? Because you yielded to my every whim? Because I knew that, though I might sometimes be behind you, I should always lead the dance? Whatever the reason, I promise you that you shall be greeted, for all your decrepit appearance and withered charms, as an old friend. For your sake I shall once again brave the astonished glances of my contemporaries.
Your Witherspoon.
(Peter Peterson) My dear Albert, The tone of your letter is a little grumpy; this is a phase we all pass through — you will grow out of it.
After all, a telegram is only a piece of paper. Doubtless Her Majesty will have devised a new method of acknowledging longevity before your next birthday. If not, you are always welcome to read mine. It would give you another opportuni- ty to inspect my medals, too; what a pity you were a pacifist in 1900 — you could have obtain- ed the campaign medal, if nothing else.
If you intend following my example by writing your memoirs, do avoid the incident of Matron and the goldfish; you came our of it with little credit, and 1 have covered it fully in my autobiography.
I trust your pelvis heals quickly; I sometimes wonder how I managed to live so long without fractures.
Your old friend, James Shoosh, K.C.V.O. (I. C. Snell) Dear Gertrude, You'll be glad to know I've passe-partouted under glass and hung the Queen's congratulatory telegram over the fireplace by myself. In your car-driving days you'd call me on my old bike 'tortoise', but the last months of being in the nineties will be even more of a strain to someone easily over-excited like yourself than the antique auctions where bidding brought on your nose- bleeds. Naturally, taking handfuls of chocolate drops when one was offered didn't help your arteries. Slow but sure is a good rule, and not be- ing smart-alecky; nature isn't fooled with face- lifts, royal jelly and chestnut wigs. Lettuce, bran and not envying others, I tell the reporters. Ivy.
(George Moor) Dear Ernest, I know you will not take amiss these few words from a sister who once was twice your age and has attained the century to which, God willing, you in your turn will come.
am not surprised you are morose; so should be in your place. Man needs stimulation of mind and body. At my age one realises that time is too short to spend in an armchair watching mediocre television programmes.
We must look on old age not as a condition to be endured, but as an obstacle course to be tack- led with cheerful determination. If it requires ex- tra effort to get washed and clothed and read the daily paper, let us make that effort rather than lapse into dressing-gown and self-neglect. Above all, we must not forget to shave. Winifred.
(Alex Campbell)
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