Hello Cock goes missing

Uncle Jack Kemp had a big dilemma. He loved a party and there were two parties on, one at our house and the other at Ronnie from Threeburgh’s place. To get from the one brandy bottle to the other he had to walk down our front steps, down our little-used front path and out the gate onto Stuart Street. He then had to cross the road and walk northwest to the other corner where Ronnie and Martie were whooping it up – and they could whoop it up!

Then he had to retrace his steps in case there was something more exciting going on where he had just come from.

After a few such sorties he went missing and Isabel Necessary asked her Koosie (pr: coosie) to go and look for him please my love, throwing back her head to let out a peal of loud cackling laughter, drink in one hand and ciggie in the other.

I found him under the willow, flat on his back with the unspilt brandy glass balanced on his big boep.
Hello Cock, he rasped. Hello Cock he’d say to everyone. Saved him remembering names.

Uncle Jack was fine, he had just run out of steam and vertical-ness and was thinking about his next move.

95 Stuart St

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In the map the four dots mark our yard. Just above the top dot is the van Tubbergh home, showing the short route Uncle Jack had to negotiate. In the house pic there’s a willow tree on the left. Just out of picture on the right is the willow tree under which he came unstuck.

Author: bewilderbeast

It's about life, marriage, raising kids, paddling rivers, travel in Africa . . . re-posting thoughts written over decades - at random, I'm afraid.

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