Onion Skins: Chapter 3
August 24th 2008 06:01
My family, extended and immediate, never found out why Great Uncle met Al Capone, or why he was given the pearl handled Derringer. Interestingly, such a gun was noted as being possessed usually by "pimps" or other criminal types, and women, neither of which Great Uncle was, however, there may be a story of sorts to do with the latter, as he had more than a leaning to the feminine side, as family legend would have it, which he chose to keep as discrete as possible, except on his wedding night.
Great Uncle decided to marry a young woman, probably at the urging of his mother. The girl may have worked in his rarely visited legal practise; he allegedly appeared there for one hour each week, on a Tuesday, before a very long lunch. All went well until the honeymoon, when Great Uncle announced that his best man was accompanying them!
On the fateful wedding night, the excited bride retired to their honeymoon suite, only to fall waiting, a very long time, for Great Uncle's arrival, who had spent the entire night with his 'best man' ('best' in more ways than one, I must assume) playing billiards, drinking brandy and smoking celebratory cigars.
The marriage was soon annulled. The Pope always granted an annulment of a marriage, if the marriage was considered, "unconsummated" (no hokey pokey!).
I always wondered what happened to that poor young woman and what she ended up doing with herself. I just hope she fled Australia and married some gorgeous, rich and ravenously heterosexual Prince!
On Saturdays, Great Uncle would venture off to his aerodrome club to fly his Sopwith Camel plane, and then retire to the Aero Club rooms for a well deserved brandy, or two. His 'best man' was also a member and a pilot.
Photo Credit: Public Domain
Uncle sometimes would fly over the family home, doing a roll, or upside down, he also did the death loop, or whatever it was called, much to the terror, chagrin and annoyance of Great Aunt Maggie, who would demand Robert and mother kneel beside her in the back garden and say a decade of the Rosary, as Uncle flew low over their heads, waving and laughing madly, as he then swooped up into the clouds.
Photo Credit: Public Domain
Uncle always wanted to take mother up, who often asked, but Great Aunt Maggie refused every time, until one day, he got his way. They were delayed somewhat, then as they were to leave, a messenger arrived, something terrible had happened. His friend had crashed his plane, and died. This was mother's second escape from death, but maybe not as close a call, as the Al Capone bullet!
Great Uncle kept the wooden propeller, mounted on the wall in his underground rooms, he never flew again. His life greyed, his normally cheery disposition sallowed into a sullen silence, rare now was his humour heard, and his drinking became much heavier.
Photo Credit: Unknown: Public Domain
Photo Source and other photos: airminded.net
LINK
I remember meeting him, some years after the grand old family home had been sold, once Great Aunt Maggie had died, that being her wish, that she was buried from the house. I visited it once, with mother, meeting another cousin, who had a haughty dismissive and superior manner; the home was being re-sold, by the people who bought it off my extended family and the new vendors used this cousin as a promotional gimmick, I expect.
I only saw the formal lounge, and the small parquet dance floor at the far end, I really would have loved to see the underground rooms, I had heard so much about.
However, time marches and Great Uncle had moved into another home. We would visit him every so often, in the early sixties. I always remember his charming formality and warm hearted cordiality; the lovely old carved cabinet, that held oodles of Violet Crumbles, every visit, we were always given one each with a refreshing glass of Woodroofe's Lemonade, a drink not surpassed in quality, in my opinion, to this very day.
The only other thing I remember of his home, and indeed him, is the solid silver Cigar Man, which stood over in a corner of his lounge room, it was about a foot high and it produced cigarettes, the "man" had a burning wick at the end of a sliver cigarette, from which you lit your real cigarettes. Uncle had promised that Cigar Man to my eldest brother, after Uncle's death, but he never received it.
My last memory of Uncle was when I accompanied my mother to his home and watched, as a flock of people I had never seen before, descended upon his house and its contents, before they quickly flew away with them. This was my earliest memory of thinking how vile humans can be, and how little respect they have, for the memory and wishes of the person deceased. I didn't want anything removed, I wanted it all to stay the way it was, so I could know 'he' was still there, in a way.
We took nothing of course; we just watched, quietly and sadly, as another precious part, of my mother's fragile and fractured family memory, disappeared into the callous claws, of a murder of old crows.
This is my last memory, of dear Great Uncle.
Pax.
Great Uncle decided to marry a young woman, probably at the urging of his mother. The girl may have worked in his rarely visited legal practise; he allegedly appeared there for one hour each week, on a Tuesday, before a very long lunch. All went well until the honeymoon, when Great Uncle announced that his best man was accompanying them!
On the fateful wedding night, the excited bride retired to their honeymoon suite, only to fall waiting, a very long time, for Great Uncle's arrival, who had spent the entire night with his 'best man' ('best' in more ways than one, I must assume) playing billiards, drinking brandy and smoking celebratory cigars.
The marriage was soon annulled. The Pope always granted an annulment of a marriage, if the marriage was considered, "unconsummated" (no hokey pokey!).
I always wondered what happened to that poor young woman and what she ended up doing with herself. I just hope she fled Australia and married some gorgeous, rich and ravenously heterosexual Prince!
On Saturdays, Great Uncle would venture off to his aerodrome club to fly his Sopwith Camel plane, and then retire to the Aero Club rooms for a well deserved brandy, or two. His 'best man' was also a member and a pilot.
Sopwith Camel in The Imperial War Museum
Photo Credit: Public Domain
Uncle sometimes would fly over the family home, doing a roll, or upside down, he also did the death loop, or whatever it was called, much to the terror, chagrin and annoyance of Great Aunt Maggie, who would demand Robert and mother kneel beside her in the back garden and say a decade of the Rosary, as Uncle flew low over their heads, waving and laughing madly, as he then swooped up into the clouds.
The much prayed to Mary
Photo Credit: Public Domain
Uncle always wanted to take mother up, who often asked, but Great Aunt Maggie refused every time, until one day, he got his way. They were delayed somewhat, then as they were to leave, a messenger arrived, something terrible had happened. His friend had crashed his plane, and died. This was mother's second escape from death, but maybe not as close a call, as the Al Capone bullet!
Great Uncle kept the wooden propeller, mounted on the wall in his underground rooms, he never flew again. His life greyed, his normally cheery disposition sallowed into a sullen silence, rare now was his humour heard, and his drinking became much heavier.
Sopwith Camel: infamous for spiral nose crashes
Photo Credit: Unknown: Public Domain
Photo Source and other photos: airminded.net
LINK
I remember meeting him, some years after the grand old family home had been sold, once Great Aunt Maggie had died, that being her wish, that she was buried from the house. I visited it once, with mother, meeting another cousin, who had a haughty dismissive and superior manner; the home was being re-sold, by the people who bought it off my extended family and the new vendors used this cousin as a promotional gimmick, I expect.
I only saw the formal lounge, and the small parquet dance floor at the far end, I really would have loved to see the underground rooms, I had heard so much about.
However, time marches and Great Uncle had moved into another home. We would visit him every so often, in the early sixties. I always remember his charming formality and warm hearted cordiality; the lovely old carved cabinet, that held oodles of Violet Crumbles, every visit, we were always given one each with a refreshing glass of Woodroofe's Lemonade, a drink not surpassed in quality, in my opinion, to this very day.
The only other thing I remember of his home, and indeed him, is the solid silver Cigar Man, which stood over in a corner of his lounge room, it was about a foot high and it produced cigarettes, the "man" had a burning wick at the end of a sliver cigarette, from which you lit your real cigarettes. Uncle had promised that Cigar Man to my eldest brother, after Uncle's death, but he never received it.
My last memory of Uncle was when I accompanied my mother to his home and watched, as a flock of people I had never seen before, descended upon his house and its contents, before they quickly flew away with them. This was my earliest memory of thinking how vile humans can be, and how little respect they have, for the memory and wishes of the person deceased. I didn't want anything removed, I wanted it all to stay the way it was, so I could know 'he' was still there, in a way.
We took nothing of course; we just watched, quietly and sadly, as another precious part, of my mother's fragile and fractured family memory, disappeared into the callous claws, of a murder of old crows.
This is my last memory, of dear Great Uncle.
Pax.
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Comment by Bill Green
Talking Headlines
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
yes indeed, Great Uncle does need fleshing out, and as everyone of that era is dead or, if alive, was very young at the time, like my mother, it leaves no alternative but for fiction.
Actually, I do have a couple of other tales about him, that I have remembered since posting this reminiscence, so I should do another chapter, which would lead into Great Aunt Maggie's death and mother moving into another home with her adopted (but not legally) brother and his parents.
cheers
and thanks for reading it and commenting!
fog
Comment by Ash
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
I loved the story, what an interesting fella! It`s sad how people`s true colours show when someone passes away - like you say it`s as if it was all about the material possessions and not the actual person.
He lives on in your memory now, and in the virtual world, for a long time to come. He`s hoping he`s looking down, over his glass of whisky, mouth full of violet crumble, and having a a chuckle with you as you take this walk down memory lane.
I`d love to hear the last of the memories you mentioned to Bill! More please, MORE!
Ash
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
tanx again! I will write the rest of the story soon. It will get a little weird and sad, as it will go back in time from this end point, before mother got palmed off on her rellies, and then back into their life at the (used to be quite famous) old home she grew up in, and then forward from this end point here... now I am confused, but that is the only way I can do it, now that I have started to the story with Great Uncle!
cheers..oh... and sorry that I have not finished my story on your blog, about the shoe, I have not forgoten and will finish that too!!
And thanks for such lovely sentiments about my dear old Great Uncle, it cheered me to read your comments, and I like to think you are right, that he is looking over my shoulder, having a good chuckle!
fog