The Bumper Beachcomber

The Bumper Beachcomber, edited by Richard Ingrams, published by Bloomsbury

In the comments on the review of Hilaire Belloc, Left Footer confessed to having forgotten about J B Morton.  Once I had recovered from the shock - both of the sin and of its confession on my blog - I reflected awhile.

Surely, I thought, Beachcomber is part of the Catholic air we breath.  But maybe not: it may even be that some younger Catholics have never heard of him, and older ones, like Left Footer, have forgotten him.

This site is dedicated to reviewing Catholic books, and Beachcomber was certainly Catholic in every sense of the word.  A friend of Belloc, he was a writer of extraordinary wit, and nothing was above or beneath his humour.

Beachcomber was the name of the newspaper column he wrote for many years.  It consisted of many short pieces, including one-liners, as well as some extraordinary soap operas of his own devising.  He created a recurrent cast of characters who, once met, will live in your mind for ever.

This collection, by Richard Ingrams, includes many wonderful passages, and to give a flavour, I shall quote some favourites.  But even as I write that, I am aware of the danger: I could be here at my keyboard all night, copying the book out line by line in flagrant breach of copyright, even allowing for the licence extended to reviewers.  Every line is a favourite: and as with Wodehouse, to criticise Beachcomber is simply the act, not only of a cad, but a presumptuous and ignorant cad, at that.

Nonetheless, in case you have not encountered his unique genius (and as a gentle, and I hope enjoyable, reminder to Left Footer, by way of thanks for prompting this review) here are a couple (and I will constrain myself to two) of personal favourites.


The Concert (round by round)
Round 1: Singer and orchestra advanced from their corners. Orchestra led with a bang.  Singer replied with a piercing scream to the ears, followed by a series of strong nerve-jabs.  Singer's round.

[You'll have to buy the book to find out about rounds 2 & 3...]

Round lV: Superb lightning rush by orchestra swept singer to the floor. Singer, though struggling to rise, counted out.  Orchestra declared the winner.

--

Which reminds me that when Napoleon saw the Roman amphitheatre at Verona, empty and silent, he said 'Tiers, idle tiers' - speaking of course in French.
Prodnose: Then where's the joke?
Myself: Étages, oisifs étages.
Prodnose: But what is the joke? What exactly is the point of it all?
Myself: You must find that out for yourself.
Prodnose: Then there really is a joke in it?
Myself: Oh, yes.
Prodnose: Thank you.  I will read the thing more carefully.
Myself: That's right. I should.

--

But they don't catch the thing at all... Prodnose is funny partly because he is one of the cast who recur at irregular and unpredictable intervals throughout Beachcomber's work: others include Lady Cabstanleigh, Dr Strabismus (whom God preserve) of Utrecht, the Filthistan trio, Captain Foulenough, and, of course, the Red Bearded Dwarfs, along with Mr Justice Cocklecarrot who has to deal with their incessant and inimitable litigation.

OK, I'll allow myself one more quotation:

Fourth Dwarf: We have a bicycle, too, and that has no tail
Fifth Dwarf: It's a guinea-bicycle.
Sixth Dwarf: The handlebars are made of lard, as a precaution.
Cocklecarrot (savagely): Against what?
Chorus of  Dwarfs: Burglary, sire.

So if you don't know Beachcomber already, there is a huge treat in store.  If you do, but the memory is faded, the treat may be even greater (aren't old friends even more rewarding than new, once one reaches a certain age...?)  Either way, this book, or indeed any other collection of the great man's works comes highly recommended.