Chapter I
I Introduce Myself
I have decided that the time has come for me to write my
memoirs.
At sixteen, many of you would think I am too young to indulge
in such an egotistical venture, but I have to point out at this stage that I am
a Seal, and in seal terms, one of our years is roughly equivalent to four years
of human life, so I am actually sixty-four. This gives me quite a span to look
back over my interesting life, which has covered the globe from China to
Milford-on-Sea, from the Acropolis in Athens to Waterloo Station. . . . .
My memoirs will not yet include my love life, which was
unusual, to say the least, and still gives me occasional heartache. Suffice to
say for the moment that I am living a contented old age in the company of three
very good friends, one of whom, who shall only be known as SB*, has volunteered
to be my secretary. While I trust her to be fair and truthful, there will be
occasional inserts in italics from yours truly whenever I find I wish to make
comments of a personal nature relating to whatever is being typed on my behalf.
Let me introduce my self: I am Sir Sealy Bell.
I shall
reveal the reason for my ennoblement at a future time - it is not appropriate
just now. I am moderately long, extremely handsome, though nowadays a bit
cuddled-looking. For this reason, any pictures in this oeuvre will be based on
me as a supremely good-looking young fellow, and I should be grateful if you did
not allow your imaginations to wander over what I actually look like now.
Enough of the flim-flam. Let me get down to the memoirs……
I was born in Arlesford, which makes me a true Hampshire Seal,
of which there are very few. Nowadays an occasional one can be seen swimming in
the Keyhaven River but mark my word, Hampshire Seals belong to an endangered
species. Contributions gratefully accepted.
I emerged into the real world through the mouth of a brown
paper bag. This came about as I was to be presented to SB by a Son who had
failed to gift-wrap me in something splendid.
The first SB knew of me was an explanation at the local
Keyhaven Yacht Club that Son's present had been left in the house, and he was
sorry he hadn't gift-wrapped it. She was interested….so her birthday hadn't
been forgotten after all.
"What is it?" she asked, devoured with curiosity.
"It's a seal." he replied.
"A seal? Oh, not a real one!"
"No, it's acrilan."
"What? A stuffed toy? What are you giving me a stuffed
toy for? I'm forty-eight!"
"Mother," he soothed her, "It's my Seal of
Approval."
So there I was, and that was almost the last I saw of
Milford-on-Sea for many months. I was taken, in what I discovered later was
called a car, up to North Hampshire where I had a few days getting used to
living quietly on a soft pink duvet with the occasional eight-legged person
encroaching on my territory. I'd no sooner come to terms with my new and rather
boring life than everything was thrown into chaos.
Cases and boxes were pulled out from cupboards and under the
bed, voices were raised and there was much running up and down the stairs. Son,
who appeared, spotted me on the duvet and popped me underneath. His idea of a
joke, I suppose, since SB was showing signs of rather liking me.
The sounds of a strange car driving into the gravel were
greeted with even more frantic shouts of "Where is it?" "Have we
got this?" "What about that?" "Just check everything's
packed!"
Finally, I heard the front door being locked and everything
went silent.
I was stuck in the dark, and to be quite frank with you, I was
beginning to get scared. I could still hear the ticking of a clock which made
the rest of the house seem even quieter. Then, suddenly, a car's engine roared
over the gravelled approach to the house and the front door was unlocked, flung
open and heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs………
This is a
picture of something similar to me but I am much better looking.
Below is
a picture of the aforementioned SB which she provided. She had the sense
to produce a photograph taken at the time of Noah's adventures in the ark.
...and coincidentally,
this is the face (now much older) behind the Milford-on-Sea web.
Chapter II
SNIFF. . . . SNIFF. . . .
"Check you've turned off the immersion heater!"
Suddenly there was light. I lay exposed to the horrified gaze
of SB.
"What are you doing there? Oh, you poor little
thing!"
I was clutched to SB's ample bosom, overcome with the scent of
something powerful, probably by Estée Lauder, while my head was covered with
kisses. Life was definitely looking up!
I found myself in the car, eyes blinking in the bright autumn
sunshine, getting used to yet another set of surroundings and I found I rather
liked the way things were going. We were on the way to the airport.
Whatever that might be, I thought at the time.
I was to become familiar with many airports before I saw my
own dear Hampshire again but there, I'm running ahead of myself.
The first port of call was Dubai, a hot, hot country where fur
coats are de trop. Even acrilan ones. Fortunately everything was
air-conditioned, so while one had to get accustomed to a continuous rumbling
noise in the background of one's life, one did survive. Just.
I spent the day on a bed and the night on a chair which even
to me seemed an odd way of going about things. At that point I had learnt that
beds were for night occupation, and chairs for daytime, and I rather fancied bed
because I got rather lonely sitting perched on an overstuffed satin chair while
SB and DB seemed to be having so much more fun on the bed. This was not to last.
Oh, I'm not talking about SB and DB. I'm talking, as is my wont, about
ME!
The next port of call was Singapore. I had been ingloriously
stuffed into a dark bag for the journey, but at least I counted as hand baggage
and had the pleasure of hearing the eating, drinking and general conversation of
the first-class cabin. This pleasure was somewhat alloyed by later sounds of
snoring and, well……how shall I put it? Suffice to say it's very fortunate
that we seals can close our nostrils at will!
We flew through a night and a day and arrived at our
destination quite late in the evening. SB and DB had arrived in the world of
expatriates, a comfortable world with people to wait on them!
We were welcomed by Ah Lam in an apartment I remember only as
blue and sadly lacking in cushions. The smells were something I still dream of,
and I kept my nostrils open to their fullest extent while I accustomed myself to
the exotic and mouth-watering aromas of the Oriental kitchen
"Lamb stew?" asked Ah Lam of SB & D.
I could see their faces fall. Had they come all this distance
to the gastronomic capital of the world for lamb stew?
It was funny to see their expressions change as they settled
down to eat out of politeness and found they were tasting something little short
of ambrosia of the gods! Mind, I still find it odd to think Ah Lam saw nothing
strange in serving lamb stew……
Tiredness enveloped us and we retired to the bedroom. SB was
horrified.
"Good grief!" she cried, "Twin beds! I haven't
slept on my own for hundreds of years!" SB was and
still is addicted to exaggeration.
The pair of them stood in horror surveying this calamity in
the form of two isolated single beds.
SB's eye fell on yours truly.
"I shall take Cholmondeley to bed," she announced
solemnly. "I cannot sleep on my own!"
I must explain here that Cholmondeley was the name she had
arbitrarily bestowed on me, but which was not my name, nor ever had been. I
think SB chose it because it seemed a suitably aristocratic name to suit my
elegant appearance. I do know it should be pronounced 'Chumley' but I am pleased
you knew my real name from the published version of my memoirs….Sir Sealy
Bell, PGK, OPF, Ph.D.,
I think here we shall pause. It seems to me that there
is time here for me to explain the title of my book. The decorations will be
dealt with later on.
Probably many of you will have come to the conclusion that a
VIS is something like a VIP, and up to a point, you are right. However, whereas
a VIP is a Very Important Person, a VIS is a Very Intelligent Seal. As seals go
I am exceptional, and could be considered as out of the very top drawer of seal
society, but I am modest as well, so I shall not bang on about my plus points. I
shall mention absolutely nothing about my minus points because, to be honest, I
don't think I have any.
So finished the first night in Singapore: more
air-conditioning, also ceiling fans, and a satisfactory night clasped again to
the bosom of the said SB. She was wearing a different perfume that night, result
of an overspend in the duty free, I imagine. It was an interesting sniff, not as
heavy as the one I first encountered in those far-off days in Hampshire, but I
do remember the combination of scent and cuddles did make breathing a little
difficult. Nevertheless, the whole experience became a memory to be enjoyed at
leisure in later years.
CHAPTER III
Settling In
For several weeks, apart from the nightly cuddle sessions, my
time was my own. I drifted round several hard sofas, pretending to be a cushion
since there were no others, and began to find life rather boring.
SB buried her nose either in books or shops, and on the latter
occasions I was left to amuse myself alone in the flat, except for Ah Lam, and I
think she didn't quite know how to deal with me. She always looked as though she
expected someone small to appear, but I remained apparently unattached except to
grownups, and she began to ignore me, moving me occasionally to whisk a feather
duster under my nether flippers as she kept all trace of dust from the slippery
blue brocade seats of the sofas.
I alternatively sighed and snoozed. Life had become very
boring.
Then one day, there was the sort of hustle and bustle I
recalled from my last days in Hampshire. We were on the move!
Boxes with fascinating squarish writing, made up of separate
lines and squiggles, rose into three dimensions from flat packs, and
fast-working men filled them up and took them away. SB's untidy piles of books
disappeared, as did her writing materials, endless stacks of paper and other
fruits of her shopping expeditions. DB's possessions, neat at all times, were
carefully packed into suitcases. Ah Lam, who stayed with the flat, waved us
good-bye and we were off.
The new flat was very green. It was not too high up in a
monster but not unattractive block of dittos, though it is unlikely they could
all have been so green. We had a balcony, and the view was, well, very green.
It turned out to be a temporary and very noisy green. The
woodcutters arrived at the same time as we did, and for weeks and weeks my poor
almost invisible ears were assailed during the hours of daylight by the grinding
scream of the saws. This noise was overtaken by the sound of pile-driving . . .
. . .Hampshire seemed very far away. Ah, but I run too far ahead.
Our new home lacked curtains. Well, it lacked curtains of
substance. There were exotic Scandinavian style open-weave things, but really
they were 'nets', no matter how fashionably disguised. While this caused no
problems at all in the day areas, since we were gifted with an unobstructed view
of trees and privacy except from woodcutters with binoculars, in the bedrooms
this was not so. An even huger block of flats lay to our right, and above our
eye-view, on the goodness-knows-what-number floor, lived a man who was obsessed
with the fear of being burgled. A total nickophobe, he had installed brilliant
neon lighting in the roof of his balcony, which at night shone like the noonday
sun into our bedroom, most particularly on the part of the bed upon which SB
rested her weary head.
SB has never liked light at night. In fact, to counterbalance
the phobia going on in the neon-lit apartment above and to our left outside, SB
is a complete photophobe.
That first night reduced me and DB to stifled hysterics, so
stifled we nearly suffocated.
It was very hot, and both the humans were lucky enough to be
able to divest themselves of all but their thin skins, where I was left covered
with my usual faux fur. DB fell asleep almost immediately, but clasping me to
her, SB tossed and turned and cursed the light and the heat. To start with, the
cursing was muttered, but eventually it grew into a crescendo, during which DB
started to make his way upwards through the deep layers of sleep which enveloped
him.
Suddenly, casting me aside, SB leapt out of bed and ran down
the corridor. I heard the sound of her pounding feet diminish, then get louder
as she returned, clutching a pile of something.
In her birthday suit, she leapt up at the window, and I
realised the pile she carried was of envelopes. She licked the sticky bits and
stuck them all over the window so that the light should no longer fall on her
face.
By this time, DB was awake and somewhat bewildered, until I
explained what was happening. We started to giggle but this was greeted by such
a storm of angry noises from the window that we hid our faces in the pillows to
muffle the sound of our laughter.
We all finally fell into a fitful sleep, lulled by the
swishing of envelopes in the wind of the ceiling fans and a determination that
the joint problems of the curtains and the nude raging woman would be solved on
the morrow.
CHAPTER IV
Modesty Prevails
And so the problem was solved.
Heavier curtains were fitted forthwith by the landlord of the
property, and we all slept beautifully.
However, for me, life was beginning to develop a tedium I was
finding hard to overcome.
I went into a decline, which was not halted even when Foo gave
me a kiss and a cuddle in between hoovering the carpets and changing the sheets.
People began to worry about my increasingly wan
complexion, including me.
CHAPTER V
Enter Mr. Portly
Mr. Portly was a contributing factor in turning my life
around.
SB met him at one of the lunches she was for ever eating in Singapore. While I
spent my time lolling around on an enormous bed, with occasional hugs from Madam
Foo, who looked after the apartment where we lived, SB's social life had taken a
turn for the better.
This resulted in her learning a salutary lesson as far as I
was concerned: she discovered it was cool to drool over cushions with eyes.
In public. Of course she had done so earlier in the privacy of
our bedroom, but this was altogether something different. Thanks to the
influence of Mr. Portly I was about to come out …..
Mr. Portly was a very old teddy bear, and as such suffered
from the wear and tear of years, much as people do as they get older. Some of
his stuffing was beginning to creep through worn fur and one arm in particular
had become rather thin and dangly. A gash had opened up on one of his legs,
possibly caused by the enthusiastic munching of a woolly bug. His plight touched
the heart of one Connie K, who was a dab hand with the needle. He was returned,
at the said lunch, to his owner, Cindy A., swathed in bandages and carrying a
red rose. Cindy A. had no inhibitions, SB said, about welcoming him with great
public hugs and kisses, plying him with questions about his current state of
health, telling him how she'd missed him and loved him etc. etc. Real
soppy stuff.
This gave SB the courage to bring me out of the closet, well,
the bedroom, and introduce me to her friends. The aforementioned Cindy A greeted
me effusively, and folding me in the crook of her arm she took me out on the
balcony, from where we surveyed no end of pile-drivers and building sites. She
chatted to me, kissing me from time to time and I felt my confidence in coping
with life rising like one of those wonderful silver balloons you buy at fun
fairs and carnivals and so on....
But I must tell you more about Mr. Portly whom I got to know
over the next few weeks. He was, indeed, a very experienced cushion with eyes
and some of his wear and tear was undoubtedly caused by the wide and wonderful
experiences he had had in his life with R and CA.
His travelling tales made my eyes almost pop
out of my head.
Among other things, for him there was no hiding in plastic bags with zips as he
zoomed around the world. No way. He sat on his own seat in First Class!
This had led to an embarrassing moment on one journey where
the Steward had offered him a choice of newspaper. Clever as Mr. Portly was, he
had no desire to try to cope with all those ghastly paper pages which fall all
over the place as the reader tries to handle anything but reading the headlines
on page one. "So undignified!" he explained to me.
RA had spotted Mr. Portly's loss of sangfroid and explained to
the Steward that "..my friend can't read!" Mr. Portly was furious:
while relieved he didn't have to cope with the voluminous pages of The Times,
the idea being spread around that he couldn't read was humiliating. He certainly
could read. A bit. Well, his own name, anyway….Still, it was a loss of face,
and in the Orient that is not a Good Thing.
No, after meeting Mr. Portly, life for me would never been the
same again. Firstly I was determined to get myself educated, and I was going to
learn to do more than read my own name.
I would begin tomorrow!
Chapter VI
The World becomes my Oyster
Yum! yum!
After meeting Mr. Portly, who had so many admirers that SB was
constantly finding his name mentioned in public, SB noticed his glory reflected
mightily on his owner/Mummy. SB rather liked this kind
of fame - in fact - she's pretty keen on any kind of fame - one of her less
attractive traits I have always thought. The question of the hunt for fame in my
particular case is altogether something different: in the case of a modest
little Seal hunting for it, even a Very Important Seal, it has a certain charm
which is missing in the human pursuit of ditto.
As time went by, I began to notice that when SB had visitors,
they would enquire after me, my health, and comment on the fact that I was
beginning to look rather 'cuddled'. This wasn't helped by the fact the visitors
also indulged in cuddling me.
They were impressed with my reading ability, which was coming
along apace, but many of them began to worry that apart from SB I had very few
friends. I had no friends of my own kind at all, and this caused a certain
amount of consternation among the more matchmakingly inclined of the visitors.
But more of that anon……before all that, there are other adventures to
recount which may interest the reader.
I suppose things hotted up the first Christmas I spent with SB
and DB in Singapore.
Two of their numerous offspring were due to arrive,
impressively under their own steam. Well, financed under their own steam.
Those of you who know that Singapore is situated in the
Tropics may well imagine palm trees and balmy skies, whereas, particularly
around the winter months, there is a thing called the Rainy Season. Then
Singapore is full of very heavy rain indeed, and one may well imagine that young
people who have saved and scrimped to pay to travel the 8,000 miles (and even
more kilometres) to the far-flung corner of our ex-Empire by air could feel very
resentful to discover all those precious pennies had been spent to peer through
pounding rain at the scenery, much of which was invisible in the torrents
pouring down from big black clouds.
The resentment was compounded by the fact that in spite of the
rain, it was incredibly hot and tempers began fray.
By Christmas Eve you could cut the air with a very blunt knife
and fork, but SB trotted round the apartment giggling and looking smugly
secretive. She announced that everyone was to cheer up, because Father Christmas
was coming. The young people, who were no longer children, could hardly believe
their mother thought they were still young enough to get a visit from Father
Christmas, but DB cheered up, under the impression that SB must have got hold of
a Bunny Girl type Father Christmas, complete with long black fish-net covered
legs.
I knew better.
SB had made me a red velvet hooded cloak with white swansdown
edging which tickled my nose frightfully. I was sneaked out of the back door,
perched outside the front door, sitting on a large Christmas-wrapped package. SB
rang the doorbell, scooted back into the apartment and re-appeared from the
kitchen, suggesting that someone should open the door…."It's probably
Father Christmas!"
MB, he who had given me as his Seal of Approval in the first
place, was the reluctant volunteer, and of course as he opened the door he did
expect to be eye-ball to eye-ball with Father C. I must say, as his eyes dropped
to me, he did have the grace to laugh, and I can honestly say that I saved the
day, indeed Christmas itself, for SB and her family.
I did note, however, that on Christmas Day itself, in my own
house, I did not receive a single Christmas present. Not one! I am not
usually given to self-pity, but I do enjoy the occasional indulgence!
But later in the day, that was to be remedied in a way I would
not have thought possible…….
CHAPTER VII
Shot by Cupid's Arrow
Later that evening we set out for dinner, all
dressed up to the nines, including me, whose DJ consisted more of a BT (black
tie to the uninitiated), made of double satin ribbon, and elegantly tied in a
bow under my chin. Obviously -- where else would one
tie a tie?
The rain poured down as we drove through miles of fairy lights
to our destination and my destiny.
Presents in glittering paper adorned a large Christmas tree,
and under the tree itself lay some larger ones. We were greeted with lots of the
moi-moi sort of kisses on either cheek, and I had a special all-embracing
encounter with C, Mr. Portly's lady. She whispered in my invisible ear:
"I've got something very special for you, darling!" I thrilled with
excitement and expectation and SB told me later my cheeks went quite red.
There was a rustle of paper and cries of "Ooh! How
lovely!" and "How clever! Just what I wanted! And so on, until I
noticed there were only a couple of packets left - one, vaguely banana-shaped on
the tree, and one larger, on the floor under the tree. I managed to pick out my
name - my reading was coming along brilliantly - on both packages.
Attention turned to yours truly.
Unfortunately I wasn't able to open the packages, owing to the
knots in the ribbon. Flippers are not made to deal with such things. Not that
that mattered - there were bunches of fingers twitching to come to my rescue.
The bigger parcel was dealt with first. Layers of sparkling
star-covered paper gave way to layers of pristine white tissue. That in turn was
carefully peeled away to reveal……the most beautiful white fluffy lady seal I
had ever visualised in my wildest dreams. We were introduced.
"This is Celia, your bride!"
Surrounded by laughing and smiling faces, a marriage was
hastily organised. There being no minister or sea captain to officiate, a Bank
Manager who was also a Justice of the Peace, stepped into the breach and without
further ado, Celia and I were wed.
Then something happened which I found even more puzzling. From
what I knew of Life, there was usually a decent interval between a wedding and a
birth, but no sooner were Celia and I joined in wedlock, but the unwrapping
ceremony of the smaller tree-hung package revealed a small and quite enchanting
white seal pup, who was introduced to me as my daughter, Cecilia.
The whole business took my breath away for some considerable
time, and I was laid quietly away from the festivities with my new appendages -
well, family I suppose - on a beautiful quilt-covered bed.
I remember no more about the whole thing than what I have
related above until well into the next day, when the rain had stopped, the sun
was shining through the window and I realised I was back in my own dear home.
I was just thinking the whole thing must have been a dream,
when my eyes alighted on Celia and Cecilia, who were nestling up to me on a
chair in S and DB's bedroom. Life was going to be a bit different from here on,
I thought, gazing at the two delightful beings which had entered my life so
unexpectedly. Cupid's arrow had struck home and I was in love. With the bigger
one, anyway.
I put out a flipper to stroke my dear wife's furry cheek.
I screamed a little scream, "Ouch!" and withdrew my
flipper which was bleeding. Very slightly, but it was definitely bleeding.
A furious small pup cried in a small voice, "She's my
Mummy - leave her alone!"
"Now, now Cecilia, you must be nice to your daddy! You
don't go biting the flipper that feeds you! Say you're sorry now and give him a
kiss!"
This was all too much for me. I was now at a complete loss to
make head or tail of anything, so I rolled off the chair and crawled behind it
in an attempt to find some peace and quiet to think my way through the confusing
situation in which I then found myself.
CHAPTER VIII
Adjusting to the Situation
I needed to have had no worries! Our lives together as a
little family, nagged only by the tiniest doubt as to the parentage of our small
daughter Cecilia, settled into a pattern of delight.
Bedtimes caused a few problems. SB insisted on taking me to
bed as usual but my dear Celia found it somewhat overcrowded. She also began
quite quickly to worry about the condition of her beautiful white coat, and
quite often elected to spend the night with Cecilia surrounded by silken
cushions on a chair under the window.
Compromise was the order of the day. In the privacy of our day
time bedroom we learnt how to set about increasing the seal population of
Singapore.
It took some time to get organised. I read books and tried all
sorts of postures. The main difficulty, as you can imagine if you visualise us
with our flippers about each other, lips together, was to get what the French so
delicately call a 'rapprochement' of the other ends. We finally discovered the
missionary position which was so appropriate to our life in this far-flung
corner of our great ex-Empire.
In the meantime, I continued to spend the hours of darkness
clasped to the aforementioned ample bosom of SB. The downside to this
arrangement was the deleterious effect all this cuddling had on my coat.
More
of this anon. Other exciting things were happening - oh, and yes, Cecilia grew
to be very fond of her Daddy, and drew no more blood from his flippers.
Way back in my memoirs, I mentioned that I would reveal the
story of my ennoblement and I think it is now appropriate to tell the tale.
SB was a very heavy smoker. Indeed, in their early youth her
own children confused her with a dragon, but the day of reckoning was
approaching. A LUMP! Terror, operation and, luckily for all, a reprieve, but not
before the great decision.
"I shall never smoke again!" SB announced.
Go
tell that to the Marines, I can say now, although she does keep trying to give
it up from time to time…..
All this happened way back in time before the invention of
patches, so SB devised a new system which she was convinced would work a treat.
Every time the urge for a puff appeared, she would indulge in
a mixture of grapes and Cheddar cheese.
True, it helped on the anti-cigarette front, but what it did
to the back was little short of seismic! She might as well have chosen an
exclusive diet of Jerusalem artichokes or Heinz Baked Beans.
As a chivalrous chappie, every time the air was rent with a
malodorous and ear-shattering explosion, I cried "It was me! It was
me!"
Time went by, and SB was weaned not only from the habit of
puffing but also from indulging in the cheese and grape diet, and my noble
efforts in taking the blame were rewarded by a knighthood. I was given a P.F.G.
(Parfait Gentil Knight), and an O.P.F. (I completely forget what those initials
are supposed to indicate - it will come to mind at some point I feel sure) and a
Ph.D. The latter had nothing to do with my intellectual performance, stunning as
that has always been, but was a French award, Phoque Delicieux. In English,
of course, that mean Delicious Seal - I add this to avoid any misunderstanding.
Celia, naturally, was delighted, and simply adored being Lady
Celia.
Cecilia became The Hon which fired her ambitions in the
marriage market, early as it was to think of such things. I must admit that I
too, rather liked being known as Sir Sealy Bell, P.G.K., O.P.F., Ph.D. Oh, oh,
oh!…I've got it! O.P.F. is the Order of the Pathetic Fallacy … how
frightfully clever. I was just reminded by hearing a question about it in a quiz
programme on television the other day!
Chapter IX
The Would-be Transformation
As the horse said: "My King for a farrier!"
- or something similar so the
time came when I would have given my all (well, most of it) for a
furrier.
It came about like this. My relations with the beloved Lady
Celia were at a low ebb. You will remember that she declined to share SB's bed
on the grounds that she was worried about the deleterious result this would have
on her magnificent coat. I, originally at least, did not share these worries,
but I noticed that comments like "He does look rather cuddled" were
not in fact a compliment on my lovability. Truth be told, when I looked in the
mirror I realised one morning that I was definitely looking rather shabby.
Lady Celia's comment when I sought her advice was that it was
quite true I was no longer the handsome seal she had married, as it transpired,
on her escape from China. The truth about the Hon Cecilia also came out. She was
not really my daughter! So much for being a green seal when we exchanged vows so
hastily at the beginning of our married life. I was, though, still in love with
my dear Celia, and I racked my brains to find a solution.
SB came up with the perfect solution.
Or
so she thought.
At this point in my narrative I realised I was so overcome
with emotion that the best solution here was to raid SB's files and quote
verbatim a letter she wrote at my dictation to the furriers she suggested.
Various parts of the letter will already be familiar to followers of my life
story, so please forgive any repetition. Look on it as an aide-memoire.
'The Managing Director,
Alresford Crafts Ltd,
The Town Mill,
Alresford, Hampshire, England.
'Dear Sir/Madam,
'I am writing to you in desperation.
'As you will see from the signature on this letter, I am Sir
Sealy Bell (assorted decorations) and recently it was my fortune to become
betrothed to the most delightful little Asian seal it had ever been my pleasure
to see. Actually, we are more than betrothed although the wedding ceremony was
rather sketchy.
'I materialised into plain Sealy Bell in August of 1983,
having been presented by a twenty-one year old son to his mother as his 'Seal of
Approval'. At the beginning of September I found myself transported to Singapore
where the said mother found to her horror that there were only single beds in
the transit flat where she was to stay with her husband. After years of cuddling
she felt so lonely that I was whisked into her bed. When one of her daughters
visited us at Christmas in 1983, the daughter's comment was 'Oh, he looks very
cuddled.' And therein lies the secret of my distress, for I went on being
cuddled and graduated to sleeping three in a bed when the double-bedded flat
appeared on the scene.
'Lady Celia - my bride - is not only white, but graced with
long elegant fur, where I, still only nineteen months old, am, to put it baldly….well,
there we have it. I have almost admitted it. The thing is my coat is not was it
was, and for weeks now I have been marching up and down the bed on my flippers
in the small hours of the morning nerving myself to write to you. Don't you
think I type beautifully considering I don’t have fingers on my flippers?'
This
is an amusing piece of mendacity I could not resist….to get back to the
letter:
'Let me stop deviating. Can you possibly spare enough fur for
a body lift? I am past a mere face life, and the recipient of the Seal of
Approval is deft with her flippers and promises to sew me into it, providing my
original eyes appear at the front end. It is not purely a question of vanity.
It's just that if I had a longer coat I would not appear to have married a lady
taller and wider than me. It's male pride. If you are a man, you will
understand, and if you are a woman, I feel sure you will be sympathetic.
'One further request: since I did not just get one of those
modern life peerages, I should very much like to have a son to carry on the
title, and if a little extra fur could appear I am sure we could arrange it.
'I shall be living in hope now and inspecting the postmarks of
any likely-looking parcels the postman brings up to our flat.
'I have the honour to be, Sir/Madam,
'Your obedient (if slightly bare-faced) creation,
'Sealy Bell PGK, OPF, Ph.D
'PS I measure 15¼" from nose to end of rear
flippers as the crow flies.
'PPS Any expenses incurred as a result of raw materials for my
spot of plastic/acrilan surgery should be sent to the address on the top of this
letter.'
I hope that I shall be feeling more composed as I recount the
result of this apparently harmless letter when I resume my memoirs. At the
moment memories of times past have rendered me incapable of continuing my great
oeuvre.
CHAPTER X
Cataclysm and Aftermath
The letter quoted in the previous chapter was written in March
of 1985 - how long ago that seems now we are living in the 21st
Century!
Lady Celia and I spent a few months travelling through Eastern
lands, the first port of call being Bangkok. We didn't do a lot of going about
there, Lady Celia and I, but we spent a lot of time perched against the window
of our hotel room admiring the barges plying up and down the Chao Phraya river.
We were a bit too far up to enjoy the sight of the local young ladies dancing on
the lawns below the window, but we caught sight of them occasionally between the
fronds of the palm trees. Lovely colours!
We also visited China where we did get a chance to accompany D
& SB as they toured the tourists sites. Indeed, there is a photograph of us
sitting on DB's lap in front of the Sun Yat Sen Memorial Hall in Gouangdong. For
the most part though, we viewed the sights from our hotel windows, and enjoyed a
stengah as we watched the sun go down in the evenings. We also returned for a
short spell to dear England, where all the pouring rain could not eliminate the
well-loved scents of childhood. Happiness seemed within our grasp again.
The Hon. Miss had stayed in Singapore to enjoy the social
whirl as she presented a picture of sweet innocence concealing a rabid hunting
female seeking a suitable (and preferably aristocratic) mate.
I
am sorry if that sounds a little sour, but the young lady did not turn out to be
the loving and dutiful daughter for which I might have hoped.
After all our travels with their optimistic result we arrived
home.
Here I will quote my next letter to Alresford. It is less
painful than remembering the happenings of September of that year.
'Dear Sir,
'What have you done? What HAVE you done!
'If you refer to my letter of 21st March 1985, for
which I might add, I have been waiting an unconscionable length of time for a
reply, you will see that my original request was merely for some material to
make me a new and handsome skin, and enough material over to make me a little
brown son. I also requested that any expense incurred be referred to SB (qv).
'And what do you do? I am still shaking like a leaf! You send
me - only days after I had returned from a nostalgic if very wet trip to my
homeland and Alresford - you send me, no expense spared, by airmail post, on 3rd
September, (oh day of ominous memory!), an individual described on the
green customs' form as a 'cuddly toy', and on your compliment slip as 'one baby
seal'.
'Baby seal, my flipper! He's bigger than me (and he is of
course a male, in view of the location where your label is attached). He is
charming and gifted, with the most exquisite coat with beautiful markings, and
he is more nearly the size of my dearly loved (at that time) but
slightly Junoesque wife, Lady Celia. Of course, the minute she clapped her
magnificent orbs on this paragon, she flipped her lid and her flippers and spent
last night in a quiet corner of the bedroom with him. ( I will admit to being
somewhat envious of my dear wife's eyes, since one of mine has dimmed with age
and SB still hasn't bought any clear nail varnish to repair me.)
'To return to the matter in hand - or flipper: I am shattered.
As you can imagine, the arrival on the scene of what I can only view as a
serious and successful rival for my dear wife's affections has had a most
deleterious effect on my health, my heart and my libido.
'I advise you that I have seriously considered legal action
against you for alienation of my dear wife's affection, the only things stopping
me being a sense of loyalty to my creator, the fear of my honourable family name
being dragged across the pages of 'The Sun' and 'The News of the World', the
protection of my ambitious daughter's marriage prospects, combined with the
unhappy possession of an extremely thin purse. However, I should appreciate your
comments on the matter.
Yours etc. etc.'
The reply to this letter attempted to be helpful, and for you
interest I shall quote that too:
'Dear Sealy Bell, (Touch of lèse-majesté
there, I think)
'What I did, I did out of guilt. We have learnt on expert
opinion that the only way your case for alienation would succeed is if all male
seals worldwide were brought into the action.
As for failing libido, there have been several papers
published in Washingtown that suggest that each six months the body should be
bathed by total immersion in lukewarm water to which has been added a softener.
These go under names such as Lenor, Comfort or Bounce. I personally cannot
comment on the accuracy of these reports but in the circumstances I think it
would be worth a try, although why a softener should improve libido is beyond
me. There is no charge for this advice, neither is there any charge for your
companion with whom I hope you will shortly come to terms.
'Kind regards,
'Yours sincerely, etc. etc.
'John Jones.'
* * * * * * * *
Time, of course, is the healer of pretty well anything, and I
am now, at 64, a relaxed individual at peace with the world. I will fill you in
on what happened after these earth-shattering events for me.
Lady Celia's affair with the new arrival lasted but a short
time, since she decided his looks did not compensate for the loss of her title.
She progressed up the social ladder till she met a rather wide - well, to be
brutally honest, a very fat - Marquis. The idea of being a Marchioness
overpowered her common sense, but the new selection was to end in tragedy, of a
kind. One dark and stormy night, while they clasped each other in terror before
they fell asleep, he turned over and suffocated her. A most unfortunate accident
which the jury finally agreed was merely that and subsequently returned a
verdict of misadventure.
The Hon Miss Cecelia finally caught a modest baronet and lived
happily ever after. How she managed to do that with her temperament I shall
never know, but maybe, in some cases, love triumphs.
The poor little chap who'd been sent from England in all
innocence was left abandoned on a shelf in a cupboard, before DB, he with the
heart of gold, took pity on him, especially when he realised that this new
cushion with eyes would help support his growing corporation in bed and add to
his comfort.
We all grew to know and love this seal, who was christened
Bertie. We now sleep happily, four in a bed, and Bertie and I have become the
closest of friends. While his intellect is vastly inferior to mine, I have to
confess that his kindness and his loving nature have added in no small measure
to our lives, and I expect we shall continue to grow older in the comfort of a
wonderful friendship.
I have enjoyed recounting some of my memoirs to you, and who
knows, one day I may get round to others.
