Beware Of The Dog

Edited from Facebook Archives

14 May 2022 at 1202

In a Zoom meeting this morning a local politician mentioned how shocked she was about the MP who was seen to be viewing porn in Parliament.

"He's such a nice polite family man, I couldn't believe it of him."

Which reminded me of something which happened in my youth.

After graduating from university in 1978 I had a year doing not much.  I went home and worked for a while as a barmaid in a local pub/restaurant.  Most of the profits came from the restaurant but the bar was also important.   

It was the village local and the landlord knew it was an important part of the community.   

One of the regulars was Dad's oldest best friend, a poacher, who I'd only heard stories about.  

The Poacher and Dad grew up in the 1920s when some families were very poor:   

he caught rabbits and duck 'for the pot'.  

Dad reckoned “he was as good as a dog, he could smell a duck and run it down."  

Grandma disapproved of him “That boy’s sitting on the gate waiting for you again.”

Dad joined the RAF in 1934 (he was 18) his friend joined the Army at the outbreak of War.  Chatting at the bar one evening the Poacher told me he'd been posted to a camp right next to a big country estate 

"Well, I mean, I couldn't help myself.  Of course they found out and do you know what they did?  The buggers made me a forager and sent me out to the Far East."

He was a rogue, naughty but nice, and his lovely tidy wife worked as a silver service waitress in the restaurant.  She always looked neat and polished, nicely made up and proper.  If he came drinking at lunchtime Mrs Poacher would pop her head through the hatch into the service corridor and give him 'the look': 

"Cold tongue for tea tonight boys."

One of their sons was the same age as me and very like his dad; full of banter; we used to fight for the back seat of the secondary school bus.  There was another son older than us who was blading, bespectacled and hardly ever spoke.

After a while I got a temporary job working for PGL Adventure holidays as a kitchen assistant in the Ardeche.  It was initially only for a fortnight over Easter so I was soon back at the Plough.

One of Dad's postmen friend's wives, Ethel, was really glad to see me back.

"Well, that one that replaced you was no better than she ought to have been!"

"What did she do?"

"Flirting - and her a married woman - I went out to the carpark after closing time one night and there she was - snogging Poacher's older son."

I was astonished

"Poacher's son! Are you sure? I mean he's so ... quiet!"

She looked at me very wisely and said

"Quiet dogs bite Ben."

A piece of cautionary advice I've remembered ever since...

Dad, Mum and me at Henffrind's wedding 1980