(112) 'The Whistle Blower and The Fried Egg Supper'

[Ken]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJTRZI2HThU

I'd liked Mrs Walsh the second I'd met her which was at the end of my first date with her daughter. I'd just walked Jenny up the long, dark drive that led to the small flat where she lived and, to my surprise, she invited me in to meet her parents.  Her mother was very welcoming with an easy smile but Peter Walsh was of a shyer disposition.  He didn't stand up when I put out my hand but his handshake was firm and, although he didn't say much, I liked the look of her father.  I couldn't have envisaged that within eighteen months these two strangers would be my in-laws, and I'd be calling him, Pop, and her, Mum.  I think it was on the third date that the die was finally cast and it was Jenny's mother fault.  She'd just asked her husband what he wanted for supper and he'd replied, "A fried egg on toast."  With a smile she turned to me and said, "I suppose you'd like one too?"  I must have answered, "Yes," for a few minutes later I was tucking into the first of the late night fried eggs that I'd enjoy with Jenny's dad.  With suppers such as these and the attraction I felt for their daughter, I can truthfully say that my fate was well and truly sealed!

So began a wonderful relationship in which my in-laws came to both love and loath me.  You see I soon found they were very susceptible to leg pulls and I found such gullibility irresistible.  One early example was when I found a last years copy of a Christmas Radio times and, carefully removing the cover, I replaced it with the cover of the current Christmas edition.  The result was all the programmes featured for their Christmas viewing had, in reality, been shown the year before.  "It's all the same old stuff, full of repeats," complained Jenny's mother as she sat in our home and perused what was on TV.  Pop did the same and then, when they'd finally settled on what to watch, he'd get cross when something else came on. "It's not even advertised," the despondent pair would loudly complain in their frustrated and mystified angst. After two days of this revelry I revealed my prank and they were both furious.  "Grow up," was their message, but their naivete was far too tempting for such as I.  They were to find I didn't heed their advice!

My in-laws became a great part of my life and, in between my leg pulls, I know they became very fond of me.  Once every week they'd come over for an evening of card playing and we'd play, Newmarket, Cribbage, and some game called, Montana Red Dog, which I've long since forgotten how to play. We'd play for small stakes and both Mum and Pop would arrive with a tin of small change for a night of low stakes gambling. Pop would also bring a crate of his home made beer which was of the highest quality. He always made it with the finest ingredients and not from a tin, like the home brew I was to make in later years. We'd play our cards as we got pleasantly pickled and I'd' always have some unusual snacks close to hand, purchased from a superb delicatessen called, Little Soho.  We'd sip the beer, nibble the snacks and enjoy some music, strangely enough it's the same music that this time warp genius still plays today.  A song by, Neil Sedaka, called, The King of Clowns, was one of our favourites and, whenever we hear it, forty plus years later, we're immediately transported back to those nights and we can picture, Pop, happily singing along. However, when it was Pop's turn to deal, he wouldn't be so happy, for I'd hand him the pack and he'd find some of the cards back to front. This made him cross and he'd say, "Why do you always do this," I'd swear I hadn't done anything and he'd mutter, "Grow up," and Jenny would give me a dirty look. Then the play would continue until his next deal and, 'Hey Presto,' the words, "Grow up," would be heard again!

If a visitor were to search my Kingdom they would eventually find a referee's whistle, hanging from a piece of string. Once there were a dozen such, strategically placed, and I'd hung them purely for some more fun with my in-laws. First I must explain that they were under the illusion that I ruled the roost in our home but, the truth was, no one could do so with Jenny.  However, that's what her parents chose to believe so we made a game of it and, as I pretended to be bossy, Jenny was overly deferential to me. They were so gullible and they always fell for such obvious jokes but, with the whistles, I took bullspin to a new level. They'd arrived for a visit and were both sun bathing in the garden while I sat and read a book. They'd asked about the whistles and I'd explained it was a communication system between Jenny and I.  One blast on a whistle meant I required a cup of tea, two blasts meant I wanted a beer, three blows meant I needed a fried egg sandwich.  The look that passed between them was one of horror but, five minutes later, it was replaced by one of bewilderment on both their faces.  I'd made two loud blasts on the nearest whistle and, as pre-arranged, Jenny came trotting out with a glass of cold beer.  She'd played her part well for she is not naturally deceptive but, to avoid laughing, she swiftly went back inside.  I acted as if such things were everyday events and so, sipping my beer, I nonchalantly continued with my reading.
                           
That was probably the highlight of the many pranks I played on my unsuspecting in-laws, and we kept it up for several days.  When I told them of my duplicity they were angry but they were also relieved that I hadn't truly turned into a monster.  Never the less, I did hear the words, "Grow up," quite often in the days that followed but, in the end, this leg pull actually made then laugh.  Pop died in 1995 and I still miss him, his beer, and those great nights playing cards. Jenny's mother had to endure my personality for four more years until she died in 1999.  However, I still see her daily and I do so with great affection, for she lives on in the expressions my wonderful wife constantly makes as she herself grows older.  I have many things to thank my mother in law for, most obviously Jenny.  However, I'm also eternally grateful for the offer of that, fried egg on toast, supper, that helped seal my fate and the life I've so enjoyed since 1968!

PS. If you want to see where my fertile mind got the idea for, 'The Whistle Leg Pull,' then click on the above link for a clip from one of this softy's favourite films.

[Ken]

This story tells how a fried egg supper helped to guide my destiny and how two blasts on a whistle had it's desired effect on some relatives of mine.