Sunday 24 February 2013

Sepia Saturday 165



There has been definite upswelling of concern about the sorrowful condition of the unknown and lost image. I've noticed an increasing number of blogs being given over to the discovering, cataloguing and researching the lost image and that various SS contributors have gone for the unknown theme.  As modern, caring, sophisticates we have the duty to do what we can to see that lost images are brought in from the cold and dark of their non-existence and are re-united with a family.  And to this end, in the true Burnettian manner so admirably displayed by our leader and mentor and my namesake, it is my intention expose them to their lives so that they are no longer unknown, no longer lost and can be re-united with a family.

I see that Alan has introduced you to Auntie Dorothy and Uncle Hopalong, if more people begin to re-introduce the lost to the modern world, it may be necessary to introduce a version of the "Will Ritson" trophy.

Aunt Felicity and Uncle Benji Bones



Great Aunt Felicity was known as Flower. She was mother of 12, fish gutter and Landlady of the celebrated Gurnard's Arms, and before moving south and marrying Benji Bones, Hooker for the Hebden Bridge Rugby League Football Team until it was discovered she was a female.  It is widely believed that after her exposure, and overcome with embarrassment and rage, she ran away from home with the intent of doing away with herself.  She kept running  and running, across field and across vale, up hill and down dale, through moor and through mire, from fell to down until eventually she reached the Dorsetshire coast and the sea.  With nowhere left to run, she collapsed in exhaustion and tears and vowed to immediately end it all by throwing herself in the sea. Unfortunately for Benji, just  as she hurled her self from the top of Durdell Door and into the raging foam, he happened by.  With an almighty thud that almost capsized his boat she landed amongst his nets, pots and mackerel bait.  There she lay, akimbo, prostrate in football boots, hooped socks and saggy shorts.  Benji thought it was mermaid, he was smit..  

They were wed and their first child Harmonious was born 9 months to the day.  And for the next 7 years it became an annual event, except for one year when Janus was born in the January and Octavia in the December.  The last three, the triplets were born some fifteen years later and came as a surprise.  It was said, that it happened the night of the very day that Hamonious brought home  his first girl-friend .  It was never made clear whether it was Benji or Flower that driven to arousal by the young maid.  Whoever, the triplets arrived before the years was out.

Benjiman Bones was a man of indeterminate age.  No one was sure when he was born.  His mother claimed not to know when or how he was born, or who his father was .  Benji, himself neither knew his birth-date or place of birth.  All he would say is that he was born at a very young age.  Even though he had had some education and could read and write in three languages, besides Latin and Ancient Greek, he chose to make his mark when dealing with authority.  He was a sometime fisherman, sometime smuggler and sometime Fossil Hunter along the Jurassic coast.  Mainly, however, he was the resident character and story teller in Flower's establishment who's function was to keep her pregnant and to promote her bounty and hospitality. 

With each pregnancy, Flowers reputation grew and so too that of the Gurnard's Arms.  As the patrons of the Gurnard increased so too did Benji's tales and as the tales grew so did demand for him to tell them.  The back parlour was Benji's domain.  His chair in the corner was his lectern, his pulpit, his stage  As demand grew  the back parlour was extended, then extended again, and again until the back wall was washed by the tide.  It is said that this success was the undoing of Benji and Flower and of the Bones.  Benji and Flower were invited to London by Queen Victoria and Disreali to speak at the newly opened Albert Hall.  On the night before they were due to go, the Gurnard had a record attendance to hear about the impending trip.  The whole family were there, all of them from Harmonious to the triplets,  dignitaries from Dorsetshire, and Hampshire, and from Devonshire were all assembled in the, now very large, back parlour when a raging storm blew in from the sea and caused a massive landslide the swept away the Gurnard's Arms  and all inside.

A few more lost, cold and lonely images lay in my shoebox and perhaps I may be able to introduce them to anew family and a new existence.


33 comments:

  1. I like the sound of images in a shoebox, and I hope you will soon share them with us!

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    1. I'm trying to train my flights of fancy to grow wings and soar

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  2. Tall tales tell no lies, Mike, especially when there's a photo to prove it. The romance of Flower and Benji could even be set as an opera, or at least a panto.

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    1. I'm looking for a baritone with a Darset accent - how is your voice Michael?

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  3. You sure this is isn't Santa and Mrs. Claus on vacation?

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  4. But I love your story for them even if they don't have the Christmas spirit all year long.

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    1. With the jet stream moving around, there is no chance of a late Santa, there is far too much woe and no snow.

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  5. I can only assume that if Felicity played for the Hebden Bridge Rugby League team she was one of us Yorkshire Burnetts.
    Mike, you make me proud to be a fellow Burnettian and a fellow Sepian.

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    1. Yes, indeed she was, and likewise dear mentor you have opened new vistas into which my fancy may fly. And, when it comes to Fancy-Flying what chance has a Cumbrian like Ritson against a Tyke?

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  6. Where is the shaggy dog in the photograph? Super story, Mike.

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  7. Shaggy dogs are like tinkerbell - they only exist if you believe in them.

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  8. Ah ,Old Benji The Happy Hooker ! (s)He Is Still Legend In Certain Quarters of Hebden Bridge!

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  9. A formidable woman indeed and such a sad loss to humanity that the family line was wiped out so suddenly and completely. Though I did think I saw someone very similar on the rugby field this afternoon.

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    1. Maybe, she left Genes in Hebden bridge before she took flight south.

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  10. Why have I never heard of these remarkable people before? So accomplished, so creative, so eccentric, so...obviously barking mad? Great story Mike.

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    1. Indeed, but is it the author or the subject, that is barking?

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  11. A most enjoyable post...I think you've got a bit of Benji's gift of gab! Just watch that you don't hail forth in a crowd that's perched above the sea, under circumstances of planning to see the queen.

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  12. I just love your flattering words

    It is but fancy soaring and a damn sight more enjoyable than watching 92 channels of repeated c**p

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  13. Maybe Flower put the flower in Benji's buttonhole.

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  14. Flower looks so happy she could burst!

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    1. It is generally within the family that she suffered from blocked wind.

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  15. I'm not sure what to say ... lost for words I am.

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    1. You maybe lost for words but you have some wonderful picture .... and a picture paints a thousand words.

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  16. Flower looks like she could easily conceal triplets under that formidable dress. I'll bet she didn't even know she was pregnant.
    Wonderful story. Can't wait for future Shoebox Tales.
    Nancy

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    1. Yes, she is rather cuddlesome and definite winter woman.

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  17. I fine yarn! It could happen!

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    1. Indeed it could, the only limit is imagination.

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  18. Only a real man would wear that little rose bud in his buttonhole.

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  19. He's real enough, no matter what I say about him

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  20. I had a laugh over this post! What about a picture of all those children? And how did they come to get from Hebden Bridge to New Zealand? I can see more stories here, so I look forward to further exploits of Great Aunt Felicity and Great Uncle Benje - though I suggest from her style of dress, she was more likely to be your great great aunt.

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  21. She didn't get to New Zealand, only the South Coast of England. As for the age of the Dress you don't know my age - most morning I rise, at least, at 93. By bedtime I'm almost Peter Pan.

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