Spillikins of wisdom
Nigel Nicolson
WHERE THERE'S A WILL by John Mortimer Penguin/Viking, 17 7.99, pp. 182, ISBN 0670913650 This is not exactly an autobiography — John Mortimer has written three already, one about old age —hut more like a collection of reminiscences designed to inspire and warn his grandchildren of the delights and pitfalls of life. It is a testament, the 'Will' of his title, in which he bequeaths to them the experience of a long life. There is not much about what he will leave to them in tangible goods, though a house, its furniture, art and garden, and a bit of cash, are not to be sneezed at. What he leaves them is his wisdom, and this he conveys in a loose, anecdotal, joky, non-preachy way, knowing full well that experience cannot be transmitted but must be acquired, generation by generation. He leaves his bits of advice lying around like spillikins, most to be ignored, hut some picked up without disturbing the others.
Sir John has had the advantage of three professions to widen his perspectives. He has been a barrister, a novelist and a playwright, and each role affected his performance in the other two. A judge once reproached him, 'It may surprise you to know, members of the jury, that it is not the sole purpose of the criminal law to entertain Mr Mortimer,' but that did not stop him from entertaining them. He owed his greatest successes at the bar to making them laugh, not just by jokes but by his mannerisms. He was Rumpole incarnate.
The same style informs this book. Through all his anecdotes and witticisms, sense pokes through. We learn that he is an atheist (though agnostic would be a truer term), that we should not be shocked by the sight of two people enjoying alfresco sex but just look the other way, that if you are born ugly, like him, you remain ugly (not true: think of Hillary Clinton), that Nye Bevan and Byron (romantic with downright common sense and puritanical with sensuality') are models whom we might well follow, and that while he hopes his descendants will enjoy a marriage as happy as his own, he hints that it need not be exclusive. All this is delivered with a wry smile.
I detected an occasional note of queru lousness about the modern world, as befits an old man. He dislikes air travel, rowdiness (but not vulgarity), multi-channel television, mobile phones, working from home, computers, knowing that his beneficiaries will skip all this. What they will retain is good humour and his love for them. They will remember that he started each day with a glass of champagne at 6 a.m., but counselled them that being very drunk is an unpleasant experience. They will benefit from his advice that an honourable life is more fun than a dishonourable one, but it should not be confined by convention or fear of causing offence. They will come to agree with their grandfather that moments of intense happiness cannot be planned: they occur by chance. And they will read and reread, I hope, the last chapter of this book, his vale, where he describes his daughter's wedding. Yes, it is sentimental, but, as he truly says elsewhere, don't he afraid of sentimentality. In all, it is a great legacy.
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