A Diamond Geezer. Slang cockney term for describing a true gentleman, respected by all, regardless of social standing, race, religion or politics. One who cares for the wellbeing of fellow humans and animals.
In the UK on the 5th of November each year, the people celebrate Guy Fawkes night also known as Bonfire Night. This commemorates a failed attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament by a group of conspirators led by Guy Fawkes in1605.
Regular readers will know that I consider anonymity a very high priority so I trust I will be forgiven for the lack of personal details and location of this particular episode. I have been fortunate to have had the chance to spend time with people from all walks of life. The individual in this story was a well known and highly respected member of the local community.
I was informed to be on the lookout for two stone pillars each with a carved lion on the top, this I found and entered the grounds of a very exclusive country estate. The estate road was about half a mile long and on each side were grazing sheep. I was struck by what appeared to be the total absence of sheep poo. I kept wondering if there was a minion with a giant poop-a-scooper kit just lurking somewhere waiting to leap out and remove anything to spoil the idyllic vista. Even the edges of the grass were razor sharp. At the end of the drive was a beautiful house complete with turrets, gargoyles and the most exquisite lead windows. In front of the house were a number of lorries which indicated they belonged to builders and the signwriting on the side of the vehicles showed that they were specialists in renovations. A Rolls Bentley was also on the drive looking somewhat incongruous amongst all these commercial vehicles. As I deliberated whether to approach the heavily studded front door or the small door in front of me a window opened and a female voice instructed me to come in.
As I entered I was confronted, how shall I put this, by a very well rounded lady who introduced herself as the cook. She carefully studied my feet and spoke one word.
“Shoes”
There could be no confusion as to what she required me to do and my protestations that my shoes were clean drew a retort that left me in no doubt that the removal of my shoes was non-negotiable.
“If Mr Beswetherick takes off his boots in my kitchen then you will do the same my lad.” This very large lady studied me with a hard look that brooked no argument.
I duly obliged and was invited to sit and while I waited for the coffee to brew I looked around. The first thing that I noted was the size of the kitchen, my entire bungalow would have fitted in this room. The kitchen was immaculate, not a thing out of place.
Within minutes the man himself arrived and I had to smile as I glanced at his feet, he was only wearing socks, bright red ones with a cartoon character on the side, he noticed my look and grinned.
“I see you have met Mrs Carew, one of her rules, no outdoor footwear in her kitchen.
Sorry about meeting here, we are having extensive internal renovations done, my wife is in charge and in matters like this I find absence conducive to the preservation of harmony within the household.”
It wasn’t until much later that I understood why Mr Beswetherick wasn’t wearing slippers in his own mansion. He knew that visitors to the cook’s domain would be required to remove their footwear and being a true gentleman and not wishing to have visitors feel embarrassed he greeted them in the same condition of casual undress as they were made to appear by his very formidable cook.
“Oh yes sir we have met.”
Ok, we can dispense with the formality my name is Oliver, and you are Ray? You were recommended to me by Jonathan Anguin. He said you were excellent, solved all his problems instantly and you had his wife eating out of your hand. That did some doing. ”
He grinned again.
My mind drifted back to meeting the lady in question, who had a formidable reputation for causing grown men to shudder. I had a tried and trusted system for dealing with difficult ladies from the higher echelons of society. Glancing around the room I would exclaim my admiration for a painting, an ornament or an unusual object, even a piece of jewellery that the lady was wearing, the ice was broken, vanity took over and whilst it didn’t always work, in the majority of occasions, even the most formidable lady became extremely amenable.
As we sat down in this enormous kitchen and enjoyed an expertly brewed cup of coffee served in bone china cups on a silver salver the incongruous nature of the situation struck me. Here we were; a highly influential and very wealthy member of the aristocracy and me, both of us in our socks, chatting in his kitchen about his dog.
With no dog in sight, I asked the obvious question.
“How can I help?”
“It’s Curtis, he’s a pet and it appears he is what my estate manager calls gun shy”
” Please tell me more,” I asked.
“Unfortunately last bonfire night we had a bit of a party, fireworks were banned out of concern for the livestock but unfortunately some reprobate brought some bangers and after a few drinks thought it would be a good idea to light them. Sadly Curtis was close and now he shows distress when a gun is fired or he hears a loud noise, also he is now frightened of thunder. My estate manager has informed me that there is no possibility of curing this problem and therefore we need to rehome him.”
The problem is that my daughter Annabelle is devoted to Curtis. ”
“Ok Oliver, first of all, your estate manager, quite correctly is looking at this from a practical and unemotional viewpoint. In the majority of instances, it is extremely difficult to rehabilitate a gun shy dog but not impossible. There is only one question to be answered. Do you or anybody else have the time to devote to trying? You are looking at months of work with no guarantee of success. It cannot be rushed. You require somebody with infinite patience who wants to do this and they will need help.”
Mr Beswetherick looked hard at me, smiled and said.
“The obvious person is Annabelle, which is why you are here. When I suggested that we rehome him she got very upset. You see Curtis lives in the stable block with a Jack Russell called Domino and my daughter who goes riding as often as she can and likes to take the dogs along when she is exercising her horse. She also takes them for long walks. Curtis would live in the house but unfortunately, my wife is highly allergic to pet hair and whilst she might be able to cope with Curtis his great mate Domino is a Jack Russell who sheds hair.
Curtis is purely a pet but I am concerned that if he heard a gun or a similar sound he will panic and if he gets under the horses’ hooves Annabelle could fall and be injured. As I said Annabelle adores both the dogs but her safety must come first.”
We made our way to the stable block where I was introduced to Curtis. He was a delightful cocker spaniel. A little excitable, but quite obedient, and I was surprised to see he had a tail. It had not been docked. When I commented on the fact that Curtis had a tail Mr Beswethericks’ features darkened. His voice suddenly went lower as if he was expecting criticism. This was well before docking tails was an issue.
“I do not believe in mutilating an animal. He was born with a tail and I see no reason to amputate unless for medical reasons.” I expressed my total agreement and our harmonious relationship was instantly restored. Thinking back the man was indeed a visionary and could not have known that years later his view was mainstream.
Home for Curtis was a small room that presumably had originally been an office. The room was heated, the dogs had beds with more cushions that would be found in any normal house, activity toys and even a television. In fact, every comfort that was available for a pet dog and just because their main residence was in a stable block it didn’t mean that they were any less loved. In fact, they had lots of company as the room was used by the estate workers for brewing up tea and coffee “As you can see they are well cared for.” said Mr Beswetherick.
“Annabelle will be distraught if we have to let Curtis go.”
“How old is Annabelle,” I asked.
“14”
I tried to imagine a 14-year-old committing to a task that could last months.
“Ok, this is what needs to be done.
There must be no gunfire on the estate whilst we give this a go.
You need to acquire a starting pistol.
You need to use the pistol to make a tape recording of gunshot sounds and other loud noises including thunder.
Whilst Curtis is playing and going for a walk then the tape can be played at a level that is barely audible, but it must only be played whilst he is playing and enjoying himself.”
Now the really hard part. You must not show sympathy by word or deed if Curtis shows any signs of distress. This is not like dealing with a child who you would automatically cuddle and reassure. To a dog, all that shivering and shaking must be ignored. Under these circumstances, if you cuddle or stroke Curtis he will associate this as praise. There he is very distressed and his humans are saying things like “It’s ok, good boy and receiving a stroke and a cuddle just like you would do if you were rewarding him for doing something right. So you see it’s exactly the opposite of dealing with a child. By the same token, you are hoping to avoid any distress. Everything must be done slowly, this will take time.”
“Now the pistol.”
“Take the pistol and measure the maximum distance between the place the gun is fired and yourself so that you can only just hear it and multiply that distance by 4. That is the distance to start and while Curtis is again having fun the gun is fired. I stress Curtis must be involved in an activity that he really enjoys, maybe retrieving his ball. It will take two people who can keep in contact either by mobile phone or by walkie talkie and depending on the reaction from Curtis the distance is then slowly shortened. I can offer no guarantees but it sometimes works. I stress sometimes. Finally, if Domino shows no distress at all he can be included in the programme and Curtis may draw on Dominos’ confidence.”
Having imparted my advice we chatted for a while and Mr Beswetherick noticed that I had left the rear door of my estate car raised so that my dog Zena had plenty of air and would be not affected if the sun came out. Zena was safely ensconced in a special, made to measure cage, designed for the rear of my Peugeot Estate car.
“Would you care to join me for a short stroll around part of the grounds?” He asked.
“And please feel free to bring your dog.”
So we went for a walk and we asked each other questions. I asked about the difficulties of running such a large estate and Mr Beswetherick was fascinated by my job and bombarded me with questions.
As we approached a tiny beach I saw a large faded notice.
DOGS TO BE KEPT ON LEAD.
As far as I could see this very small beach was totally inaccessible apart from the sea and the estate.
I stopped, turned to my companion and said.
“Sorry Mr Beswetherick I didn’t bring a lead I will have to turn round.”
His reply. “My dear fellow no problem, I own the beach!!!”
About six months later I received an invitation to “drop-in” if I was passing. I phoned to confirm a convenient day and time and revisited the estate. There to meet me was Mr Beswetherick, Annabelle, Curtis, Domino and Mrs Beswetherick. I had not met Annabelle or Mrs Beswetherick during my first visit. Both turned out to be charming. In Annabelle’s hand was a ball. We all shook hands and I was invited to watch.
Annabelle instructed Curtis to sit, Mr Beswetherick moved no more than a metre away raised his arm and fired a starting pistol. Annabelle threw the ball, Curtis retrieved it and sat in front of his mistress as she took it from him. Not a hint of any reaction to having a gun fired over his head. Congratulations were in order, months of work had come to fruition.
We all retired to the main house where coffee and muffins were served by the cook, Mrs Carew. As she reached down to offer me a muffin, I saw her eyes drift down to my shoes. She grinned. I looked down at her footwear. I nearly burst out laughing. On her feet were a pair of slippers that took the appearance of two puppies, complete with black nose, eyes and droopy ears. I realised that Mrs Carew wasn’t quite as stuffy as she had first appeared!!
“Never have animals been in greater need of our compassion.”
Chief Dan George. 1899-1981
Native American Chief
Tseil Waututh Nation
With subtitle or not?