Our 41st Year
Later in the evening and well fortified with ale, Major Walsh would kneel precariously on top of a low table and face everyone in the bar like the impervious conductor of a badly choreographed choir. Then raising both hands above his head, he would give a rousing performance of an extraordinary recital he called The Old Bazaar of Baghdad. This was somewhere between a wail and a chant and must have been learned in some questionable establishment on the banks of the Euphrates during his service in the Middle East. He would then prostrate his upper body on the table with his bottom in the air and give a loud wail that would have everyone thinking he had done himself a grievous injury. This was the signal for everyone else in the bar to raise their hands and join in the chant….“Yes, Dad! No, Dad! Three bags full, Dad!”
“I became terribly bored. I wasn’t even allowed to make myself tea.
There was a servant to make it, another to serve it.”
“What did you do?”
“I started drinking my husband’s gin.”