I was on my way to the podium at the Jewish Volunteer’s Network Awards when a thought passed through my mind: “Do I address the Chief Rabbi or the Lord Lieutenant first at the top of my speech?” This led me, somewhat ill-advisedly, to tell a joke. I mean, no one tells jokes any more do they? I love a good joke and this one was tried and tested. Or so I thought. So I launched off.
“An old actor manager, fleeing from creditors, hails a barge on the Stratford upon Avon canal. ‘Honest bargee,’ he cries, ‘I find myself in impecunious circumstances. Wilt thou transport me to London where I will remunerate thee, verily threefold?’
“The bargee says ‘aaarr,’ but warns him, he’ll have to travel with the cargo. The actor looks at a pile of horse manure on the deck with disdain, but having no alternative he clambers onto the top, spreads his cloak and they putter along to the first lock gate. Here he hears the lock keeper cry out: ‘Name your cargo!’ The bargee bellows back: ‘Load of shit and an actor!’” (Except, minding my clerical sensibilities, I amended the Anglo-Saxonism to “load of dung and an actor!”) No expected titter.
I soldiered on: “The actor is a little discombobulated, but bides his time until the second lock gate comes into view, whereupon the same inquiry is shouted and the same response comes back: ‘Load of dung and an actor.’”
Wait for it, I thought titter-wise… but nothing.… Still, rule of three.
“As the barge approached the third lock gate the actor leaned down from his fragrant perch and asked, silkily: ‘Honest bargee, before we reach yon third lock gate… might we have a small discussion here... about billing.’”
A silence ensued. I realised that this joke was an in-joke and my audience was .. well… out.
It would have gone better with the s**t word, I know, but that could have sent a frisson around The Grove in Watford, which could have been picked up by this very tome.
Mind you, if you watch Netflix/Apple/Disney etc. you might think there was only one expletive left in the universe and it began with “f” and ended with “k”.
Oddly enough those watching on Zoom seemed to get the joke. Several strangers have told me so at a number of dos since and one pounced gleefully in Bourne’s Fishmongers to tell me gleefully that he got it.
I managed to make some mileage out of my failure to amuse and the rest of the speech frolicked apace.
I shared with the audience that in the late Fifties, when I was a member of the BBYO, we were told to visit the old peoples’ flatlets on Hull’s Anlaby Road and be politely interested over a nice cup of tea. Often we could hear the resident of the flats hiding behind the door whispering stagily: “Keep schtum Milly – they might just go away.”
Meanwhile, the work done by volunteers in our communities is frankly staggering. Just reading the individual achievements of the prize winners made my legs ache and my eyes water. It is altruism above and beyond the call of duty and often it is years and years of unpaid service, which makes you ashamed of your own record and cringe at the demands of junior doctors and train drivers.
As usual, the event was overseen by the selfless volunteers of CST and I got rather excited at the idea of doing a benefit specifically for these individuals who train, give up their time and put their own lives on the line to keep us safe. I’ll volunteer for that! You read it here.
The word volunteer comes from the French “voluntaire”, which is a 17th-century word for an unpaid soldier who signed up out of poverty or patriotism. It came to mean more than just in military terms and was applied to any form of service to others.
My granddaughter aged 13 was keen to volunteer but needed to be accompanied by an adult, so last Saturday we signed up to visit Hammerson House.
First off, I dropped her at the Liberal shul in St John’s Wood for cheder, and stayed for the service. It was rather wonderful. It was run by volunteers from the community, a group of seven women and two men. The choir was a mountain stream of clarity and I always love the restraint of Rabbi Alexandra Wright. Then again, the robust joy of South Hampstead and the sincerity of West London all have a place in my heart. In fact, wouldn’t it be fun to go all out on a shul-crawl sometime? You read this here as well.
So Ava and I pitched up at Hammerson on Saturday afternoon and, honestly, we couldn’t have liked it more. “You are so wonderful with older people,” I told her later. “I know,” she groaned, “I just wish I was as good with my own age group.”
She learnt many ropes from one resident, Sheila Shears, who had run Nightingale House for years before the amalgamation, and she was quite intrigued by another, Vlodka, originally from Romania, who told her survival story to the wide eyes of my beloved girl, who is only just learning about the Holocaust.
Vlodka and my dear friend Jackie Gryn were playing their second game of Scrabble of the day – of every day. Jackie is my best critic of this column. She seems to read my column almost before I’ve sent it in. If it wasn’t for Jackie I really wouldn’t get any feedback, so I’m very grateful.
Meanwhile, I should like to volunteer the information that we shall shortly be in Israel and I shall write to you from there. This year promises a new play called Allegra about a woman who is relentlessly happy, a one-nighter at Jewish Book Week about the life and times of Mel Brooks, with Andy Nyman, Rob Rinder and Allan Corduner, and a poetry and jazz night at the Southwold Festival with Jacqui Dankworth, Art Themen and Jeremy Robson. Plus an 80th birthday looms. How did this happen? I’m not planning to retire. Yet.
I shall end with a joke they did get. A waiter in a Jewish restaurant is endlessly patient with a woman who complains “I’m shvitzing… turn up the air conditioning.”
“Certainly Madam,” he acquiesces. Ten minutes later, she complains of being too cold. “Turn off that wretched air conditioning, I’m nithered. “Certainly madam,” he responds. Another customer is impressed and asks the waiter how he keeps his manner so in control.
“Well, sir,” responds the waiter, “two things. First we are trained to believe the customer is always right. Secondly, we have no air conditioning.”
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