(70) 'Salted Beer, Broken Chairs and Chinese Whispers'

[Ken]

My friend Sue Bushell recently spoke of a time when we were visiting a pub called, The Donkey, near the Surrey village of Elstead.  She told of how she and her husband Chris found an empty table in the crowded garden and sat there while I bought some drinks.  I majestically walked out carrying the drinks and, having placed them on the table, I sat my twenty stone frame on my chair.  To Chris's delight the chair seemed to crumble and, as it fell apart, so did I, as I not so majestically landed on a my backside.  As I got up the whole garden erupted in laughter and no one laughed louder than my friends. Meanwhile I had spotted a vacant seat and, having fetched it, I said to the watching customers, "Lets try again." I sat once more and it didn't collapse so, with a thumbs up to everyone, I enjoyed both my beer and the sunshine.

The point in telling the above story is as Sue chuckled at the memory, Chris said to her, "You weren't there," and I recalled them having had that disagreement before.  Chris insisted, that in the forty or so years since it happened, the story had been told so many times that Sue truly believed she was there.  "I was there," insisted Sue but, either way, it could never be proved.  However, without doubt, my chair did collapse to the enormous amusement of all those who witnessed it.  I liken that memory to the party game of Chinese whispers, where an original message is written down and is then passed on by a whispered conversation to someone else.  The message is then whispered to all those gathered until it reaches the last person.  That person has to then relate what they have heard and that is compared to the original written message.  The variation can be quite staggering and shows us the potential danger in believing what one hears on the grapevine.  Word of mouth messages can often be found to differ with every single retelling!

Of course in most cases, like the one with Chris and Sue, mix ups only add to the fun of conversation.  Just like this memory that involves my brothers, Bob and Len, a salt cellar and some flat beer.  It started at twelve noon on a Saturday in Shamley Green's Red Lion Pub.   Bob and I were the first in the pub and he mentioned that the beer was a bit flat.  I then told him a trick I'd been told by an old boy who'd once worked in the brewing trade.  With Bobs permission, I picked up a nearby salt cellar and sprinkled a little salt in each of our glasses.  The result was an immediate head on our enlivened beer.  As Bob and I both sipped our, no longer flat, beer, we agreed the pint had no taste of salt at all.  Within minutes Ian Stevens arrived, followed by Frank Elliott, and they both commented on the flat beer.  "No problem," said Bob, as he picked up the salt cellar and sprinkled some in both their pints.  There was the predictable outrage from Ian but, as soon as he sipped his pint, he agreed it tasted fine.  Frank felt the same and so, being content with our new discovery, each of us livened up our subsequent drinks with a little sprinkle of salt.

That's how our lunchtime continued on that Saturday in 1985, shortly before my move to Wales. Everyone who came in was quite happy to have their beer salted, until the arrival of Len Tuffs, the almost twin of my brother Bob.  He bought his pint and sat down with the rest of us and, tasting his pint, commented, "The beers a bit flat."  At this point Bob picked up the salt cellar and sprinkled some in Lens flat beer.  "What the hell do you think you're doing," demanded an amazed Len and then unnecessarily added the obvious, "You've just put salt in my beer!"  At this everyone laughed, but not Len.  Unlike his normal fun loving self, he was visibly angry.  I explained about the salt solution to the flat beer problem and Bob said that everybody agreed you couldn't taste the salt.  Still angry, Len demanded that Bob buy him another beer saying, "If I had wanted salt in my pint I'd have salted it myself." Everyone roared with laughter at this pointless comment but not Len.  Bob ignored him and sat there with his jutting jaw and familiar half smile.

So the minutes passed and Lens pint remained untouched.  In answer to another demand on whether Bob was going to buy him a pint or not, Bob said, "I will not!"  Len then said angrily, "I'm not going to drink that," and he pointed at his untouched beer.   Bob replied, "I'll have it then," and he picked it up and downed it rapidly.  Our laughter became somewhat muted at this point, for the two brothers were now both angry. Len stood up and went to the bar and ordered himself a pint.  He took a swig and sitting down again continued to glare at Bob .  "Try some salt," said a straight faced Bob and once again the salt cellar did it's evil work.  As he sprinkled the fresh salt in Lens new pint of beer, Bob exploded with laughter at Lens astonished face, as did the rest of us.  Then Len was laughing as well, as his usual sense of humour returned.  I remember not who bought his next unsalted beer, but I do recall thinking this is a story that will be told and retold down the ages.  My writing it down will help protect it from the Chinese whispers but already Len is adamant the event took place at The Bricklayers Arms Pub and not at the Red Lion.  But it's what happened that's important in the memories we recall.  It's doesn't really matter if Sue was at the Donkey when I pulverised a garden seat or where Len's beer was salted.  What's truly important is that when the story is retold it reminds us of the fun we've shared during our time on planet earth!      

[Ken]

This story tells how a broken chair and some salted beer were once the cause of two huge roars of laughter.   The brunt of the laughter was felt by my brother Len and myself, for we were the victims of much merriment.  The tale also warns of the dangers of believing the outcome of Chinese Whispers.