Writing for Fun
November 2016
Gone Fishin' - Reg Pound
I’m not sure whether I am sad or not. I’ve just returned from the funeral of an old friend of my Dad’s. Although no relation, I always called him Uncle Frank – he always called me Son, even to the last when I was well into my fifties.
Why am I unsure as to whether I am sad or not? It’s hard to feel sad when remembering someone with such a jolly and carefree persona such as Uncle Frank.
I say I’ve just returned, well not quite. I’m in the Bar of a pub just opposite the Church. I’m on my third rum. I didn’t stay on to the reception which his sister’s family had laid; on I never knew he had a family, certainly he never spoke of them. I knew he had ran away from home to join the Merchant Navy. Dad told me that.
Dad and Uncle Frank were a bit like chalk and cheese; unlikely mates. They met when dad was a Clerk in a shipping office, responsible for signing on crews. I think Dad envied Uncle Frank’s (there – he has passed away and at fifty plus years old I still call him Uncle!) spirit of adventure and Uncle Frank envied Dad’s reliability, staidness and lack of imagination. If Dad even recounted anything it would always be factual and to the point.
Uncle Frank, on the other hand, would be more colourful and perhaps sometimes hard to believe. They would have a ‘night out’ when Frank was in dock. Dad would get slightly stoned which Mum didn’t mind as it was only once in a while and we would put Frank up in our ‘spare room’, a large summer house at the end of our garden. Compared to most ships he was on, our shed was luxury in the first years – later when Frank was made an officer – a Ship’s Purser – he did get a cabin of his own. By then we had moved from Canning Town, near the Royal Docks, to Gidea Park and we had a proper spare room.
After Frank and Dad’s night out, Frank would always treat Mum and Dad to a special meal. He would insist that he paid for Dad to hire an evening suit and for Mum to have an evening dress. After, I came along they got a baby sitter for me, but later on I was included too. When he was appointed a Ship’s Officer Frank would always wear his uniform rather than a dress suit.
But I’m digressing, it must be the rum, I don’t really like it but it was Frank’s favourite. And it does have a warm feeling just like Uncle Frank’s character.
I was surprised his family had a Church funeral – it was obvious they did not know him very well. The Vicar said a few words of his life, gleaned from a few facts given to him, but it was nothing like the Frank I knew. They should have asked me.
In fact I once asked Frank what religion he was. ‘There is too much choice,’ he told me, ‘I’m just a philosophic cynic. It saves having to decide on one of the many branches of Christianity such as Methodist, Catholic, Protestant, Church of England, or, where they derived from, Judaism. Then there’s Islamic, Buddhism and Hindu. It goes on and on. And if that’s not enough, there is Atheist and Agnostic.’ When I asked what the last two were, I remember he told me that they were people who had to have something not to believe in. And he said philosophic cynics didn’t have to go round killing each other.
Uncle Frank was a collector, or rather a saver, of worthless objects which he got from all over the world, but mainly America. He would show these off to anyone he felt was interested, always with a bit of a story – often a different story for each object at different times. He said it wasn’t the object looked at an object at different times or in different moods you would get contrasting emotions, even feelings, not intended by the artist. I tried this and I never looked at any object again without making my own picture around it.
Let me give you an example, but first another rum and some blackcurrant to take the taste away. All this reminiscing is making me thirsty.
When I was about twelve he showed me a gun hammer which he said was from a Colt 45 revolver. On the surface it looked like an old piece of metal, until he told you its history as related to him by the person he bought it from. He claimed it was from the revolver used by Wyatt Earp in the gunfight at the OK Corral and gave a graphic description of the fight. On another occasion he would say that it was from ‘a pistol owned Colonel Custer fighting at the famous ‘Custer’s Last Stand’.
He had lots of objects like this; the violin case used to hold Al Capon’s tommy gun, a piece of rope from a ship involved in the Boston Tea Party and so on. All with a variety of stories.
My favourite though was an oil painting of an old rocking chair in an empty run down room. I’ve got this by the side of me now. His executors having found out that it had no intrinsic value offered it, and other items of his collection, to any of us mourners who would like to take them away as mementoes.
Frank told me this was the most valuable item in his collection – it had special powers. He said it was a painting of the rocking chair belonging to the father of song writer Hoagy Carmichael which was the inspiration to write the song ‘Rockin’ Chair’. The painting of the chair was by a friend of his father who, being unable to read or write, identified his work by leaving a thumbprint on the back. Later the chair itself was used by Louis Armstrong, the famous trumpet player, to help promote his chart topping version of the song.
Frank said that Hoagy told him that if he looked at the painting long enough he could see his father sitting there. Frank said that he often saw Louis Armstrong there. When asked why the artist hadn’t included Hoagy’s Dad in the picture Hoagy replied, ‘Dad had ‘gone fishing’.’ It wasn’t until a long time later that he realised that ‘gone fishing’ was Hoagy’s euphemism for having died. That was how the painting got the title.
‘Gone Fishin’ was a song also made famous by Louis Armstrong which was likely inspired by this painting.
Uncle Frank has now ‘Gone Fishing’ himself. Will I see him sitting in the picture of the old rockin’ chair? I think sometimes I will.
But Uncle Frank has further influenced me. I save things now which I get from Boot Sales. Would you like to see the cricket ball used in the match that W G Grace got his first century, or perhaps a little more up-to-date, the football boot lace that belonged to Bobby Moore when England won the World Cup? I’ve got boxes full of such priceless items.