There's No Such Thing As A Village Idiot!

[jones jones]

As a child I was raised in a rather small rural village which had a hotel (natch), a post office, a police station (manned by three policemen), a railway station and a garage/petrol station. Life was pretty slow. The farmers, mainly dairy and/or pineapples, got up very early every morning, got the milking done, then in my adolescence opinion spent the rest of the day drinking coffee and shooting the breeze.

There was this one guy named Johnny who lived alone and very seldom bathed, except on New Year’s Day when the young guys got together, ambushed him and threw him into the dam. I was a such a regular? occurrence that I think old Johnny actually looked forward to it. Now being unmarried, not surprisingly considering his lack of personal hygiene, Johnny had a ploy he used to freeload and get himself fed every day.

Only thing he owned ‘cept for his tiny plot of land and corrugated iron shack, was his mare named Beauty. Now Beauty was the highest horse I had ever clapped eyes on and apparently, though I never ever saw it myself, the only way Johnny could mount her, was by using a step ladder. Pete, Johnny’s long suffering and seldom paid only labourer, used to hold beauty with one hand and the rickety ladder with the other.

So once mounted, Johnny and Beauty would visit the closest farmhouse just in time for breakfast at 9am. Of course the folk in the country are rather different, more obliging and giving than their city cousins. So there was always a large country breakfast waiting for ol’ Johnny when he arrived, not quite unexpectedly. After breakfast, coffee and a chat he would put on his hat and take his leave. Next stop was in time for tea and cake/biscuits. The next port of call would be at 1pm for lunch. Johnny seldom imposed on anyone for supper, unless of course the breakfast or lunch people were away.

It’s said that the only thing Johnny ever bought was tobacco for his pipe. He went to bed and rose with the chickens so that he never had to buy lamp oil or candles. There was an urban legend about him that did the rounds. He once owned a wagon and a span of oxen. One late winter afternoon he was on his way home and travelling down a steep hill when one of the back wheels of the wagon came loose and actually rolled past him. Its said that Johnny politely raised his hat to the wheel and said; “Evening!”

Life like this is long past I guess and will never come around again. But maybe those indeed were the good old days!