(73) 'Ken Tuffs, A Bit Of A Queer Cove'

[Ken]

One of the Romany words for a person is, 'Cove'.  It is fast becoming obsolete but for some reason it's a word I have great affection for.  This memory tells of the time it was used by two people to describe my personality as a strange and not very nice person.  Later, I'll tell why a woman called Denise felt this way, and the reason she suddenly decided it would be wise to cease working for me.  But I'll start with the story of what a chap called Ron once said when speaking about me to a mutual business associate of ours.

The business man, who was also my friend, said Ron and he had been speaking about the particularly hot summer of 1976.  During the conversation the name of Supasports came up and when Ron realised they both new me he said to my friend, "I like Ken Tuffs, but you've got to admit he's a bit of a queer cove." Ron then told him his story. He said his shop was very close to our Guildford branch and for that reason David Watson gave his family a generous discount.  On one particularly day, his wife wanted to buy some Speedo swimming trunks so their son could go swimming.  Her lad, a strapping teenager, tried on several pairs but found only one that he liked.  David Watson wasn't there but the shop manager had happily offered the usual discount on the sale.  However, just as she was about to pay, the lads mother spotted a dirty mark on the trunks and demanded a larger discount.  At that moment, according to Ron, I had entered the shop and the manager referred the discount question to me.  After pointing out that the mark would come out as soon as her son entered the water, I had apparently said, "Charge the lady a pound."  

Ron then continued to tell our mutual acquaintance that his wife said, "That's not good enough, I'll pay David when I see him, he'll be more generous!"  "Can you remember what happened next?" my friend asked me and, of course, I did.  I told him that I informed his wife that I hated mean spirited people so I would give her the swimming trunks for nothing. I then picked up some scissors and proceeded to cut the swimming trunks into two halves.  I handed one half to Ron's wretched wife and the other half to her bewildered son, and saying, "enjoy your swim," I left them with mouths agape and got on with my day. My friend said that was exactly what Ron had told him, but he had thought it couldn't possibly be true. "Why on earth did you do that," he asked me.  "Because I hate mean people and it's your round," was my reply!

My second story involves a part time worker called Denise.  She had not been hired by me for this was before I saw the need to oversee all employment.  This meant that when I visited her branch she didn't really know me very well.  She was fated to never do so because of the events of that day.  Before I continue I must explain that at the rear of the shop there was a door that opened onto a small area of scrub land.  Next to this door was a stand that displayed our range of cricket bats and hanging there was a cricket bat knocking in mallet.  Now lets return to the story.  Denise suddenly screamed, for she had found in the shop a nest of mice.  The staff gathered round in something of panic, asking what should be done, so I took over.  Emptying a tennis ball box I told them to put the mice into it and to close the lid. Having done that I took hold of the box and an idea for a leg pull entered my mind as I did so.  "Follow Me," I commanded and, as I walked out of the back door, I grabbed hold of the cricket bat mallet.  Making sure no one saw me do so, I surreptitiously threw the mice out of the box to safety, before I reached the scrub land.

I waited until my staff were all with me and as I placed the box on a chunk of broken down wall, I said, "At home, if mice get into the house, we remove them by pretending they're Russian spies."  I then proceeded to smash the box repeatedly with the cricket bat mallet, adding, "or, if you prefer, Nazi's!" That was, without doubt, an example where I went too far with my weird sense of humour, for some of the staff were clearly horrified.  Several, including Denise, just ran into the shop before I could explain that it was just a leg pull and the mice were quite safe.  Once they were told it was a joke they found it funny, but not Denise.  For the poor woman kept on running and running, out of the shop, and out of our lives, forever.

Shortly after that, having finished my work I left the shop for a meeting. I did not know I was never to see Denise again and neither would her branch manager.  He told me that me that she did not return that day and a letter of resignation was soon to arrive.  He then phoned her and tried to tell her it was only a joke, and the mice weren't hurt, but she said it wasn't funny.  She added that her husband thought I sounded like a right queer cove, and he certainly didn't want her anywhere near someone like me.  So there you have it, two stories that link me to the word, Cove .  Denise, may still think of me as a nasty bit of work and with some justification, but I think Ron may feel differently.  I have the suspicion that he secretly quite liked me putting his tyrant of a wife in her place, for she truly could be a battle axe of a woman. One day, I hope someone will describe me as a kindly old cove, but my breath is not bated.  Until then, I'll settle quite happily for Ron saying, "I like Ken Tuffs, but you must admit, he's a bit of a queer cove!    
   

[Ken]

This memory tells of the two occasions where my actions made others think I was a little unbalanced.  I accept my humour is an acquired taste but surely my sense of justice compares to the wisdom of King Soloman!