Another side
Unknown depths?
A couple of days ago, I replied to a colleague’s work email and dropped in a reference to having written some books. I’ve known this chap for getting on for twenty years. We both love running (he’s a Hash House Harrier, like I was, forty five years ago) and sailing - he was in the Navy for a while and I used to race dinghies.
But our shared passion is for the Building System we still sell into the UK market for walls and roofs. He’s an engineer, so knows what he’s talking about and can prove it. I just ‘know’ something will be strong enough. This usually occupies the entirety of our verbal and written communications. He’s a sober and steady fellow, as befits his engineering education and inclination.
I was astonished when he responded to my email with great enthusiasm – I had no idea! When did you write these? What are they about? You kept that well-hidden. Are these allegorical tales of the world of finance? Or tales of a misspent youth?
This unrestrained outpouring suggests he feels as though he has gained admission into some inner sanctum, some exclusive Boys’ Club – at last! Years of preparation, learning, swotting, graft have led to this Great Moment when His Eyes are Opened to The Great Truth.
I’m very pleased to have written and published four books in a series and I’m always chuffed to bits when somebody says they have read one and like it. But this is the first time anyone has been so enthusiastic about knowing me as a published author. It’s as though that achievement dwarfs my personality and character.
Actually, the very last thing I want to do is hide my books from the world. That’s …counter intuitive. Perhaps I can persuade him to tell all his friends to buy copies?
It set me thinking, though. Have you had such a revelatory experience with somebody you’ve known for a long time? Did you nod sagely and say to yourself, ‘Ah yes. That fits. I’m not surprised.’ Or was it so jaw-dropping that you found yourself forced to rethink your entire relationship with that person? Tell me in the comments section.
It was only after my mother died that I discovered the extent to which she was involved in S.O.E. (Special Operations Executive) during the Second World War. Earlier hints had flown un-noticed over my head. Her detailed advice on how I might succeed in connecting up the suspension on a kit car I was building was, well, odd for a housewife. And her knowledge of the suitability of parachute fabric to build a tent in the garden might have been a clue, had I the wit to follow.
My father’s encyclopaedic knowledge of how Sherman tanks matched up against the German Tiger 1 and Tiger 2 opposition plus how scary he thought the early Leopard tanks were, I might have added to his habit of banging his boots and shoes before putting them on – I was too young and naïve to appreciate or even ask about these safety factors for survival in the North African desert. I still use one of his canvas kit bags to contain my shoe-cleaning kit. And an entrenchment tool (‘spade’ to you and me) with 1942 stamped into its haft. It used to be strapped to the engine coverof a tank. Now it lives in my basement. It was that particular implement I used most when reshaping our garden. It fits perfectly into the hand, the balance is just right and the stout wood handle is polished from years and years of hard labour.
It's particularly satisfying to use when dealing with some of these awful garden invaders. Honestly – the size of the blighters! Fully 100mm long and as thick as my thumb.
So – who has surprised you with some previously-unknown facet of their being? I leave you with further evidence of gastropodic invasion. This one narrowly escaped being trodden on by my dog’s paw. Will they never stop?
