My parents, when I was small, led a double life.
By day they were mild-mannered professionals, he an engineer, she a teacher.
But by night they shed a skin and became bona fide folk singers. They entertained halls and clubs and cellars with a double act which put bums on seats. She took the melody, he the harmony, and together they were as one voice. It helped, of course, that they were head over heels in love: people always like that sort of thing.
But it was their perfectionism that always struck me as I used to watch them rehearse, or listen to the guitars as herds of folk singers flocked into our front room. They collected a library of songs from sources high and low. They got priests to sing them Irish Rebel songs, and coaxed lullabies out of the great and the good.
As we grew we joined them, a veritable Von Trapp family, singing for audiences in four-part harmony for the pure joy of it.
One song sums up their relationship, this pair who had clearly found something extraordinary in each other. It was sung by Nana Mouskouri, a traditional song from the great Appalachian mountains of North America. I could swear I hear the mountain winds within its melody: it is called I Gave My Love A Cherry, and they would sing it fifths apart in a stoic version which highlighted the electricity which sparked between them. There was always rather a hush when they finished that one.
Today, however, I am concerned with another of their melodic acquisitions. It is called Go Down and Bolt The Door -O.
The lyrics, as with all the best folk songs, tell a story. This concerns the Blunt couple: purveyors of fine ale of which, one night, they partake in full.
Before long they are only good for the journey upstairs to bed: and they forget to bar the door.
Once underneath the eiderdown, a journey down to remedy the situation, and make the house secure, seems untenable: and they strike a bargain. They will have a contest of silence: the first one to speak a word must go down and bar the door.
So, of course, no-one speaks.
Three travellers happen by and discover the unlocked door. They come in, ransack the house, and drink the admirably-stocked cellar dry. Still, neither partner says a word. They charge up the stairs and take the wife out of the bed ready to have their wicked way with her. Finally, the husband shouts out to upbraid the travellers.
And far from being grateful for her deliverance the wife shouts: “You spoke the first word, John Blunt. Now go down and bolt the door…”
It’s bawdy and excessive, but it does sum up these little unspoken duels we marrieds have occasionally.
Phil and I have been playing a game. It’s called Who Is Going To Pay For A New Kettle.
Our old kettle is old and grey and full of limescale, to paraphrase some Irish poet. It has begun to wheeze excessively when boiling the water for our myriad cups of tea, and it makes visitors wince painfully to look at it.
About a year ago a near relative told another that they were terrified of their kettle ending up looking like ours. It looks barnacled, as if it has spent a little too much time on the subaquatic decks of The Titanic.
And about three weeks ago, it began to leak.
Its incontinence began with a small suggestion of moisture, but this has progressed to pools which threaten the nearby sandwich construction area. Once or twice the children have made polite enquiries as to whether we might have dry sandwiches in our packed lunch boxes from now on as soggy ones have a tendency to disintegrate.
I did not, however, take measures to replace it, but in the spirit of a folk song composed hundreds of years ago, I waited.
And so did Phil.
The first one to surrender and run shrieking to the local electrical store would experience a financial loss which neither of us fancied. Like a staring contest, we watched, we waited.
And this morning, Phil snapped.
“Do you have time to do something for me?” he enquired, ever mindful of my time.
I informed him in Elizabeth-Bennett tones of courteous acquiescence that yes, husband, I did.
“I wonder”, he ventured “if I give you my bank card, would you be able to pop to one of the electrical stores and buy a new kettle?”
Reader, if you have had any experience of football you may recall the tradition of celebrating in an unseemly fashion after a goal is scored.
The players might join in a group hug of boisterous excess: they might run to face the crowd and perform some small victory dance to elicit adulation. Or possibly, like that Brazilian commentator after a rather exhilarating victory, they might holler “Goooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal.”
And so, while my outer visage altered not one jot from the Elizabeth Bennett composure which was its wont, some crazed footballer charged delighted around my mind, gesticulating wildly and uttering that unforgettable victory cry.
This evening a new hi-tech filtration kettle lights up a pleasing shade of blue as it sits in the dark on our working surface. The sandwiches no longer need to be afraid.
The kettle’s filtration system means we may never see barnacles on this particular boiler of the family water. But one day, it will give up the ghost, oh yes, one day, mark my words, it will go. And then, unless I am a multi-millionaire, I am quite sure we will duel once more.
Meanwhile, the dog is sleeping peacefully, but we both know he will need letting out in about half an hour.
I think a barter session is in order.
Kate Shrewsday 
LOL at the family tussle. It’s good to hear other people have these silly ‘things’ as well.
Your parents sound quite exceptional, you chose them well.
One does one’s best….
Lovely story.
It’s fascinating how other folk manage their finances.
At home my parents had their own accounts. On a Saturday there was always some complex exchange of change after dad had been shopping, all to do with ‘the housekeeping’…. this was despite the fact that by then, the time I can remember this complex exchange, Ma was working nearly full time.
When we married Cyclo and I went on honey moon then almost immediately to Australia for a year.
“Much simpler,’ said he, ‘if we just have the one account.”
So we did. And we have a joint account.
I love the picture you have painted of your parents singing and the Von Trapp family….
It is amazing the memories of our parents that pop up unbidden, isn’t it? That Saturday morning conference sounds wonderful, Pseu.
We had a joint account for a while. That was interesting. Now we have separate ones, and I am content. Bartering is, for some reason, part of out makeup: sometimes it’s like an Istanbul street market, the haggling that goes on….
This is so delightful, Kate! I so love how you create a story and I’m with you, rapt, every step of the way. I pictured you running around the kitchen with your T-shirt pulled up over your face – such sweet victory!
Have a lovely weekend and I wish you a long, happy relationship with your new kettle
Sunshine xx
It is as if we have always had a gleaming blue kettle, Sunshine. It has its feet well and truly under the table now 🙂 Thanks Sunshine…
In the matter of marital procreation would this means that the “talker” would have to pay for the children?
It would if duels stretch to the big things 😀 but for some reason it’s the little stuff that really niggles…the children seem to be a given….
Loved this, especially the fact that you won the battle of the kettle. Have made a cup of tea and spent a rdiculous amount of time inspecting the inside of our kettle, think there’s some lfe in the ‘old gal’ yet.
Thanks for stopping by my new blog and look forward to reading more of yours….
Loved those bags, Bex. I am ruminating on using a pattern to actually create something now! Thanks for coming over. I’m glad your kettle has life in it, because duels can be so draining 😀
Fabulous reading 🙂
My mother always handled the finances and in my own marriage we each keep our own counsel ;p
Keeping my own counsel. I must remember that one. It says it so well 🙂
I KNEW we were related! AHLEY AND i FREQUENTLY DUEL OVER SEVERAL THINGS. i AM BY FAR THE MORE FREQUENT WINNDER. uSUALLY THEY HAVE TO DO WITH HOUSEHOLD CLEANING CHORES, BUT SELDOM ABOUT PURCHASING A NEW needed item (sorry about the unintended caps – I’m too lazy to rewrite). Since the money all comes from the same pot at our house, it doesn’t really matter!
Great story. I’m still laughing. It has been a great morning for that because of some great blog posts across the board. Must be we all sensed each other’s need!
The world must fall into duelling and non-duelling couples. I wonder what is must be like to be a non-duelling couple? Life must be so peaceful!
Peaceful, maybe? Boring or without the spark of fun and interplay? Absolutely! 😀
We are a non-dueling couple.
It is peaceful, but not boring . . . because we engage in imaginary duels with those NOT of our immediate household.
The sparks fly and settle and the offending parties are none the wiser.
Now there’s a perfect solution!
Such fun! What we do as a pair of financials. We started with one, then each had their own, and somewhere along the way, have yet another collective one for household “big” purchases. Still, we would be bartering for who buys the next coffeepot.
I love the images of your mom and dad and a rambling band of folk singers. They are our kind of people.
Even if one does have a Big Scheme to manage the Big Purchases I think the odd coffee pot wrangle is perfectly acceptable, Penny. Of course, had mine been the bank account to fund it I might have had a different take on this 😀
Loved the post, especially this:
“Its incontinence began with a small suggestion of moisture, but this has progressed to pools which threaten the nearby sandwich construction area. Once or twice the children have made polite enquiries as to whether we might have dry sandwiches in our packed lunch boxes from now on as soggy ones have a tendency to disintegrate.”
We long ago combined our finances and no longer have to worry about “balancing the books” vis a vis one another. If we want something of negligible expense, we buy it. If it’s a more significant purchase, we discuss it. We rarely fight about financials and I feel quite fortunate to be able to say that ~ I expect that it’s because neither of us much like shopping, so expenditures are generally for necessities.
Sounds just the right balance, Nancy 🙂
Your victory is worthy of a choir of vuvuzelas.
I’m still cooking in the dark ages. I had no idea a filtration kettle existed. I had to buy a new water heater because of limescale. If that becomes a problem, be sure you get his credit card before setting out to shop for a new one.
Will do, Kathy, thanks for the tip 🙂
I think I would have caved long ago on the kettle… Hmm, is that true? My last kettle before this almost-brand-spanking-new one I use now, had been threatened for years with replacement – it didn’t leak but had become a bit of an electrical hazard. Of course, for me there’s only my self to barter with, which at times can be quite as daunting as bartering with an other. 😉
Ruth, my bartering sessions with myself are the most uncompromising of all
The first time I ever met my academic advisor at college, it turned out she was not just a dean of biology but an avid folk musician. This was a year after she became my advsior. Sad.
That’s quite a second string to her bow,Andrew!! A woman of many talents…