“Same issues with my kith and kin. Father was very much the politician don’t you know. Dead now, poor blighter. Cannot see myself in that line to be frank. Far too much hot air and duplicity for my taste. Not a career for an honest chap such as myself.”
Both men acknowledged the arrival of full glasses and silently toasted each other, which toast Ramsey joined with his exceptional Moselle.
“Our family has an estate in Bonnie Scotland. Rather hoping I can spend my time there communicating with fellow creatures that neither wish to shoot at me nor intend to deceive me.”
The ‘sandwich’ was getting the better of Ramsey and it showed.
“Struggling old chap? Need a brandy to ease it down?”
“No thank you sir, the wine is quite sufficient. If that is the standard of the food here then I can understand your weight problem Crisp.”
“I’m for dropping the names thing if that’s ok. Call me John.”
That was his second name of course, but it saved explanations.
“Indeed. Call me John too.”
All three smiled broadly as they realised the problem.
“Ok damn it; guess I’m gonna be Marion then,” and holding up his hands dramatically, “Yes there is a story there ok!”
“Well far be it from me to stop this heartfelt comradeship from spreading. You may call me Cam in these present surroundings. And there is a story there too gentlemen.”
Ramsey wiped his mouth on his serviette and fell back into the voluminous chair, stuffed to the brim for the first time since he left Blighty.
Suppressing a satisfied belch, Ramsey rummaged in his pocket.
“Splendid. Now then Marion, you seem to have a story to tell so fire away.”
His Players cigarettes came out and did the rounds before Crisp started.
“Short and sweet version gentlemen. My father has never touched a drop of liquor in his life, until the day I was born that is. Unfortunately, he celebrated mighty hard with my Uncle, who then took him down to the County office, to make my birth official.”
The two British officers had no idea where this story was going.
Crisp’s voice took on the style of an old storyteller starting into a well-loved anecdote.
“Apparently Uncle Ralph was propping Dad up and couldn’t get much sense out of him. Incidentally, he hasn’t touched hard liquor since.”
Crisp grinned at the glass in his hand and, taking a sip of his very large brandy, continued.
“The woman clerk was getting mighty uppity the way Uncle tells it and so he tried hard to get the details from Dad, who was not best placed to be cooperative. Mind you, Ralph is only just a tad more sober than Dad, the way Dad tells it.”
Crisp’s face took on a serious look.
“Don’t forget that Judge John Ryan Crisp, my father, is a man of some distinction and a pillar of the community, which pillar is now, apparently, decidedly horizontal in the county clerks’ office.”
Prentiss stifled a snigger but grinned from ear to ear none the less.
“You see, by this time Dad was lying on the floor singing, leastways Uncle Ralph says he was singin, but Dad isn’t a musical man by nature. Anyway, so there is Ralph on the floor with him, in front of a whole line of people, all with official business in the office, trying to coax the very necessary details of the birth out of a drunken man.”
Both now had the amusing image fixed directly in their minds.
“Apparently, there was much annoyance developing with the good townsfolk and Ralph was told in no uncertain terms that he should get on with it and get Dad the hell out of there.”
More brandy and Ramsey, to his surprise, finished the last of his Moselle.
“And so it was that Uncle Ralph called for silence and asked what the boy’s name was.”
“Bear in mind now, that there is my Dad and Uncle lying side by side on the floor of the county office, with a dozen annoyed people leaning over them, straining to hear the not-so-whispered conversation.”
Adopting affected drunken whispering tones that represented his father and uncle, Crisp re-enacted the scene.
“What’s the boy’s name John?”
“Which boy?” says Dad.
“Your boy,” says Ralph.
‘My boy?’ says Dad.
‘Your boy,’ says Ralph.
“Ah, my boy, my boy.”
“My father spoke my name and the rest is history.”
More brandy consumed as the climax approached.
“Marion John Crisp was what my Uncle stated to the clerk.”
A pause for full effect, perfectly timed followed.
“Daddy swears he said to Ralph ‘My Ryan’. I’ve had to live with that ever since.”
Neither of the other two heard the second sentence as they were both braying loudly, Prentiss on the verge of choking with glee. They made so much noise that the other officers, mostly French, stopped to see what was entertaining the eccentric British Colonel and his friends.
“Apparently the listeners were divided on what had been said, and an argument occurred. They all decided to stop wasting time and democratically resolved the issue. Majority vote went to Uncle Ralph’s version and the rest is a matter of public record. The clerk wrote it down as fast as her hands could do the deed, just to get them all the hell outta Dodge!”
“Wonderful Marion, wonderful.”
Ramsey shook his head, still enjoying the metal images conjured up by Crisp’s story.
“That simply isn’t true is it… err… Ryan?”
“It certainly is Cam. You don’t think I could make that up?”
His look of innocence was not convincing but it didn’t matter. It was a damn good story.
“So we will go for Ryan I think. Agreed?”
Prentiss extended his arm and offered his glass forward. The others clinked theirs to his.
“Agreed,” spoken as one.
“Right then sir.” Ramsey recovered his poise. “You said Cam?”
“Ah nothing so fabulous and enthralling as our good friend Ryan here. Merely my initials. I am the possessor of some tiresome names and the family shortened them, for which I am extremely grateful.”
“Well I got the Cedric part earlier. Best you ante up with the rest ‘old chap’,” said Crisp, obviously feeling the warm spreading effects of some superior French brandy.
“Quite so Ryan. I am blessed with the names Cedric Arthur Moreton, hence the very simple abbreviation ‘Cam’.”
Both Majors’ brains were working overtime with the additional possibilities.
‘Prentiss?’
“And before either of you ‘gentlemen’ goes further into the possibilities of my initials I should warn you that I make a very implacable enemy!”
Nothing was said but the grins were loud and clear.
All glasses were now empty and Prentiss again beckoned to the passing senior orderly.
“Three more Brandies if you please.”
The old orderly looked extremely uncomfortable.
“I very much regret Colonel Sir Lord; I am under orders to govern the intake of all officers this evening. You are now at the limit set by my General and say I must decline to serve you further. Apologies Colonel Sir Lord. I may serve Commandant Ramsey of course, and Commandant Crisp may continue as he will be leaving us.”
There was not a lot that could be said about that without causing a scene, so Prentiss asked for a Perrier instead.
“Tight ship they run here it seems chaps.”
“Colonel Sir Lord?” ventured Ramsey.
“Yes well, very tiresome. Let’s not be bothered by it. Sure that damn fellow used to wait tables at the Savoy you know.”
The continuing looks from his two companions stirred him further.
“Oh alright. I am Viscount Kinloss, Sir Cedric Arthur Moreton Prentiss, not really a lord chaps, or at least, not a proper one.”
The additional drinks arrived, but neither Major felt comfortable with drinking the fine brandy in front of an envious Prentiss.