A Pernicious Habit

I HAVE come to the conclusion that the late Dr. Spooner was, and still is, — for ‘the evil that men do lives after them,’ — a most dangerous canker in our social life.

In my own case, a chance remark concerning this famous man led me, when young, to experiment with the request that I should be allowed to play ‘Damn Crumbo.’ The well-merited rebuke conferred upon me by my Victorian aunt merely encouraged me to further efforts, until the process became almost automatic, and has, alas, persisted well into middle age. For example, the detested rice pudding of childhood is still ‘puss riding,’ and even sometimes ‘cat on horseback.’ Similarly, upon the postman’s arrival, some member of the family rushes off to ‘fondle the spectre,’ or, in other words, to ‘pet the ghost.’ In former days the ‘cat-end of a bundle’ was often used to light picnic fires; nowadays it has been replaced by ‘ spithylated merit ’ — I mean the solid kind. A well-known glee is still sung as ‘Lame is the cark,’ while another, from being first transposed to ‘The long clay dozes,’ now masquerades as ‘The churchwarden slumbers.’

Quite apart from pits which suddenly yawn at one’s very toes, the most innocent transpositions will sometimes recoil upon one. Only last week, for instance, after discussing which of us should speak to Maria on the delicate subject of the Sunday roast, my better half sought to tempt me by honeyed references to my dignified manner. Hoping to ease the tension, I unthinkingly replied that I would sooner have a ‘magnified dinner.’ After which I fear my exit was almost a scuttle.

Despite such incidents, I fear I have made no real effort to throw off the vice, and have even introduced it to the rising generation. Within the family circle there is, perhaps, no harm in this; but I doubt if a slight acquaintance of mine, the Venerable Whitehead, — or his wife, either, — relished being addressed by their son and heir, from my house, as ‘Dear Damn and Muddy’!

It was this, I think, that began to open my eyes to the risks I have been running; and already a fresh danger is upon me. Let others be warned by my case. I have been invited to read the Lessons, and, alas, I cannot well refuse. But how shall I fare with ‘the Gospel alluding to Saint Cork’? And, even if I escape this, may I not some day run into the ‘ First (or even the Second) Cook of Bings’? Meanwhile Sunday looms ever nearer — blow Dr. Spooner!

V. P. KITCHIN