ECCENTRICS

Stories concerning those not in the ‘mainstream’.

This is my first attempt at posting to a blog. For me, humour is a vital element of human existence. Without it the human race would be sad indeed. The following is a trace element of the humorous eccentricities that grace our reality. Enjoy.

It is a long standing tradition in England that when one reaches a mature age elements of eccentricity begin to permeate many individuals. I say this because England is the culture with which I am familiar. No doubt the same is true in many other cultures. These changed behaviour patterns are viewed with humour by much of the population. Bizarre, strange and unusual behaviour is accepted from those of a certain age. Part of these changed behaviours can be traced to freedom created by the opportunity to release responsibilities and duties of young and middle age. Employment has been dispensed with, children have flown the nest.

The straitjacket of mundane expectations has been lifted. Perhaps financial resources are available to pursue personal interests and traits long buried in the pursuit of duty. In addition there is a long standing tradition of eccentricity among those with inherited money. These are people who never need to pursue the mundane life and are therefore free to express their personalities. Such freedom is a heady brew. Two of the following stories are about people from this group with inherited money.


 There is a further reason, in my view, for this sometime quite sudden change in behaviour. There is the change in personal psyche characteristics that is a normal part of the human condition. Around the age of fifty a spontaneous merging of elements of personality can occur making one a more rounded balanced person. In this change one questions, reviews and institutes changes in the way the purpose of life is pursued.

One explanation of eccentricity that I found and liked is the following. One of the hall marks of an 'eccentric' is being "happily obsessed" with one or more hobbies/interests/pursuits etc. Other hallmarks are being 'non-conforming', 'intelligent', 'non competitive, 'not particularly interested in the opinions or company of other people', ‘possessed of a mischievous sense of humor'.

Science has a more ‘illness related’ view of eccentricity which is only partly true in my view. The following is from the ‘New Scientist’.

Odd and eccentric behaviour increases with age - but flamboyant behaviour becomes less pronounced, according to a new UK study. Perhaps this is because flamboyant behaviour requires a lot of energy to maintain which may be in short supply in the middle and old aged.

The team at Imperial College, London followed up 202 patients with diagnosed personality disorders. The patients' ages varied widely, with an average of 35. They were categorised into one of three groups. The first, "odd or eccentric", included people diagnosed with schizoid, schizotypal or paranoid personalities. The second, "flamboyant", were antisocial or histrionic. And the third, classified as anxious or fearful, had been diagnosed as having strong obsessional or avoidant personality traits.

Twelve years later, the team re-assessed 88 per cent of the patients (the others had died or refused reassessment). And they found a significant change in personality status over time. The personality traits of patients in the flamboyant group had become significantly less evident, whereas the personality traits of the odd or eccentric and anxious or fearful groups were more pronounced.

"The tendency to be a little odd or eccentric can often be kept under control in younger people, as they modify their behaviour to social norms," says Peter Tyrer, professor of public mental health at Imperial College, who led the study.

"But as people get older there is evidence of reduced plasticity of the nervous system, which makes them less adaptable and increases expression of their odd personality traits," he says. However, it is not clear why antisocial or histrionic people become less flamboyant as they get older, he says.

I believe that there is another reason for older people that are of an eccentric disposition become more so as the years roll by.  My experience is that as people become older they care less about what people think about them. Therefore they are less constrained by social norms. They thus feel increasingly able to express themselves in the way that they wish. There are many examples of eccentrics.

The following are a few examples from my experience and those of my acquaintance. I take issue with the medical perspective above. Eccentric people are less in the main stream of thought therefore more likely to disagree with the existing social paradigms. Therefore they are less controllable by those that would rule us.

The party was in full swing. Food drink, conversation was fuelling the enjoyment of the people sat on the wooden decking on a balmy evening. Into this conviviality a shambling figure loomed from the darkness outside. Unshaven was he this fifty something figure. No laces in his ancient suede boots, Hawaiian shirt half hung out of his trousers with midriff in plain view. This was topped off by a jacket that had a number of contacts with wet paint in the past. Mine host introduced Luke to all assembled. An initial reaction would be to feel sorry for this tramp-like figure.

 Doubts about his true antecedents surfaced in me when Luke spoke in response to the number of “Good evenings” spoken in his direction. He replied in a mellifluous voice with charm, poise, ease of movement, with a voice that was cut glass and out of the top bracket of society. Luke settled himself and proceeded to charm all present with his relaxed conviviality. After a little while mine host whispered in my ear.

“He is a member of the …. family,” mentioning the name of a long established industrial dynasty that was fabulously wealthy. Luke was somewhat of a black sheep having fallen out with the hierarchy in the dynasty but nevertheless was sufficiently well funded to live the bohemian existence that he loved. He was also very generous to those around him; a man with a kind heart. Unfortunately his kindness is, at times, taken advantage of by those that are not of such a generous disposition. A pleasant few hours were spent in his company. We all laughed a lot around him.

Morris is a nondescript man living in an unremarkable house on the Isle of Man. There is nothing obvious in his life to cause comment. There is one feature, however, that is known only to close family and friends; that is he is rich in monetary terms. The only outward demonstration of his wealth passes most people by, unrecognised. He uses a large bar of gold as a doorstop. He views this as being highly amusing because most people do not know what a bar of gold looks like. There has been no attempt to steal it.  Do you know what a bar of gold looks like, in the flesh so to speak? Henry who is mentioned later in this chapter says that such bars are extremely heavy. 

 When Henry visited a gold mine in South Africa the members of the visiting party were invited to pick up such a bar with one hand. If anyone was successful in picking it up then they could take it away was the offer. What an incredible invitation. Everyone tried but no-one could pick the valuable piece up single handed. So keep your eye on doorsteps when visiting others. Pay particularly attention when paying a call on those that may have a twinkle in their eye as you examine their doorstop!

Friend Mary tells the story of a woman of her acquaintance who lived in a houseboat and regularly walked her dog on the adjacent footpath and fields. There is nothing unusual in that you may say. However on her regular forays she would wear, strapped to her back, a pair of angel wings. These were large and consisted of white feathers attached to a metal frame. Apart from this strange behaviour everything else about her life was apparently mundane. None of the other people that she met on her walks ever made any comment about the odd appendage strapped to her back. One could say that those around her were exhibiting a typical English trait.

This was the English national character of never making a fuss, whatever the circumstances. In this country there is also the attribute of allowing other people to be what they want to be, decency allowing, as mentioned in the introduction to this chapter. No-one knows, apart from the woman herself, why she wears the wings. Perhaps she talks to the angels on her walks.

My friend Margaret White paid a visit to another member of the Temple Study Group who took her to the theatre to see a comedy. When Margaret returned home I asked her if she had enjoyed the play. Yes it was fine, she said. The only problem was that I laughed in all the places that the rest of the audience didn’t. They laughed in places that I didn’t.

That’s absolutely fine, Margaret, I replied. You are a ‘crazy’, an eccentric. This is the type of things that eccentrics do. She appeared to be content with my comment. At one of our regular Temple Study Group (TSG) meetings Henry, a man of dry humour, made this comment to Jacques our esteemed group co-ordinator at the end of a particularly valuable esoteric discourse.

“Listening to you Jacques is like smoking a ‘spliff’. One feels elevated beyond everyday mundane worries. One feels lighter and at peace with the world!”

One the laughter died down Jacques replied that that was one of the better compliments that he had received.

John, a fellow member of the TSG, talks of his time growing up in a mining community. His father and uncle both worked at the narrow coalface hacking away at the seam. It was necessary to lie on one’s side to perform this backbreaking task. Money in the 1950’s was in short supply in the Yorkshire coalfields. An evening meal often consisted of potato and Turnip, little else. Life was so tough money available for rent at the end of the week was often insufficient. John speaks of the doctor that served this community, Dr Wainwright.

The good doctor would stride into the waiting room to cast his eye over those that were waiting to see him.  The genuinely sick and the workshy were all mixed together. The young John was once seated there among the not so merry throng of coughers and wheezers when Dr Wainwright arrived. Quickly scanning the well known faces the doctor picked on one man by pointing his finger at him. What are you doing here? The imposing figure of the medical man demanded in a loud voice in front of the packed room. It’s me leg Doctor, The unfortunate man replied. There is absolutely nothing wrong with your leg, shouted back Dr Wainwright not bothering with the formality of an examination. Get back to work. With that the disconsolate miner slunk out of the room. I doubt if a modern general practitioner would get away with such a lightening diagnosis in current more patient focussed times.

On one occasion a triumphant miner turned up at the pit office with a sick note completed by the aforesaid doctor. The man was disgusted when the sick note was rejected on it the doctor had written ‘drunkitis’ in the line reserved for ailment description. Another sick claimant arrived at the office triumphantly waving a sick note. This too was rejected as being invalid.

It says here that you are suffering from ‘malingeritis’ quoted the pithead clerk.

If that is what the doctor says I am suffering from then that is what it is, blustered the claimant. He clearly didn’t understand the joke.

Before newspapers became totally the possession of industrial magnates intent on concentrating their editorial policy on narrow lines of ideas there was room for writers of independently creative mind. H.L. Mencken was such a one. He wrote uncompromising and challenging articles in the US before World War 2 which upset many people. In order to minimize the time he spent replying to critical letters he had mimeographed thousands of a standard letter. This was before the age of the photocopier. These were sent out in reply. This is what he wrote. I am sitting in the smallest room in the house. I have your letter before me. Soon it will be behind me. Yours HL Mencken.

A friend told me some stories concerning Mavis. A person of domineering personality she would persuade friends to sit in her bathroom at Christmas singing carols. If this was not bizarre enough Mavis would bathe naked during this social event. How the friends were persuaded to join in this bizarre ritual is difficult to imagine. One of Mavis’s prime items of dress was a pair of Wellington boots. These are rubber boots that are tall enough to reach above the knees. This item of very wet weather apparel would be worn by Mavis on many occasions. Mavis is very fond of classical music concerts. She loved to reserve seats at the front of the auditorium. Invariably arriving late she would clump her way to the front in her rubber boots, spread her not inconsiderable bulk over her seat and as much of those seats adjacent to her as she could get away with and promptly fall asleep. Quite what she enjoyed on these occasions is open to question.

 One time it was necessary for her to visit a medical specialist at his surgery. She arrived, with my friend, in one of her usual ancient voluminous dresses wrapped around her bulk. The whole was topped off by the usual rubber boots. Flopping down on the specialists couch she announced that’s he was ready for the consultation. The professional person apparently not used to such a strange apparition looked over to my friend with a pained, quizzical look on his face. My friend looked back at him. The moment was timeless. Let us say that mutual eyebrows were raised metaphorically!

On one famous occasion Mavis was concerned about the possibility of having cancer of the breast in her seventy year old body. As she discussed this possibility with my friend she, without further warning undressed the top part of her body and exposed herself in order to demonstrate her worries. She thrust the most wrinkly and flaccid breast in the direction of my friend to demonstrate her point. My friend later said that it was one of the most revolting sights that she had ever seen. On one occasion Mavis asked my friend to accompany her to a tattooist. My friend baulked at the indignity of watching Mavis having a tattoo on her not inconsiderably sized rump and declined to go.

My wife Jaqueline is not the person most interested in the world of the psyche. So, I was heartened one day when she announced that she would be using her psychic powers. This announcement occurred, one day, when she was experiencing one of her most uncomfortable, but sadly usual, menstruations. I was most heartened by this turnaround in her views of, what many people call, the paranormal. Our subsequent conversation went like this.

That is wonderful, Jaqueline, I replied. What are you planning to concentrate on? Will it be developing your intuition?  Or perhaps you will develop a skill with the tarot cards. Could it be that you will train in past life regression?

It will be none of these, she replied. I am planning to give you my menstruation periods!

That’s OK, Jaqueline, I finished the discussion. Are you planning to give me the female equipment to go with it?

This comment ended the conversation. The difficulty of transferring the relevant female body parts was obviously to big a potential task.

In a previous book we wrote concerning a strange use by Mexican women of their menses in times past. Mystics are aware that menses contain great psychic power. The Mexican women would mix the menses in the food of their men in order to exert psychological power over their menfolk. It is alleged that this substance was so powerful that, if the women overdid it, the men would become zombie like in their behaviour. You need to know this before the next story.

  As the years flew by Jaqueline mused on her failing menses. She ruminated out loud that maybe she ought to freeze some of the last drops.

Whatever for? I made this puzzled response.

She replied So that I have one last potential control over you! There was laughter in her voice as she spoke I was relieved to hear.

Jaqueline has two cacti which she lovingly takes care of partly, I suspect, as they originate in her beloved Mexico. As the winter grips this part of the country they are transported from the kitchen to the warmer living room. This is to help them to survive I commented one day. Yes, she replied. They are also happy to be in company, she added: shadows of Prince Charles talking to his plants. This is an idea of which I heartily approve.

As a young woman Jaqueline, started to learn fortune telling using playing cards. One day she was asked by an acquaintance to read the cards for her. Jaqueline sensed that the woman would lose something of value. Two weeks later the son of the woman disappeared for some time. The woman blamed Jaqueline for the disappearance which, of course, was not the case. Jaqueline then abandoned fortune telling as too much hassle for her. One night she was sleeping at my mother’s home. She was woken by the weight of a cat jumping on her torso.

Oh, go away Harry, she said sleepily to the cat that had landed on her. She recognized the purr and the weight of the family animal. It wasn’t until the following morning that she remembered the incident with a start. Harry much beloved in the household had, in fact, died some months previously.

Winston Churchill was hosting a dinner for Commonwealth leaders. The chef de protocol quietly went up to Winston during the feast. The Chef told the great man that one of the guests had slipped a solid silver salt shaker into his pocket. Churchill did nothing until the meal had finished. He then sidled up to the offender produced the matching pepper shaker from his pocket and said, Perhaps we had both better return these before we are discovered.

This story, sadly less than a happy one, appeared on the Internet.

An eccentric loner is believed to have died of thirst after becoming trapped in a bizarre network of tunnels made from rubbish in his own home. Investigators believe the labyrinth of waste inside 74-year-old Gordon Stewart’s house was so complicated that he may have got lost inside it. It is thought he may have died as a result of dehydration, after becoming unable to find his way out, reports the Daily Telegraph.

Mr Stewart’s neighbours raised the alarm on January 2 as they had not seen him for several days. According to the Sun, police subsequently called in a specialist diving team equipped with breathing apparatus because the stench coming from the house. When they entered the house, the officers were faced with mountains of foul-smelling garbage. They discovered a network of tunnels, built from carrier bags, boxes, old furniture and other junk, with Mr Stewart lying dead inside.

Neighbours told The Daily Mail that Mr Stewart had been accumulating rubbish for at least 10 years. A spokesman from Thames Valley Police confirmed that there are no suspicious circumstances regarding Mr Stewart’s death.

My friend Mary was walking down a street in London with her friend Eduardo; the name is changed to protect the innocent! Now Eduardo is a monk, very obviously so as he wears a monkish habit. The pair were stopped as they walk by a woman handing out religious tracts.

Do you believe in God? The woman asks Eduardo.

Very politely and patiently Eduardo replies, well, actually I do!

Doh!

He takes a tract from the woman and the pair march on to the next little adventure. Outside another shop an Iranian woman halts the pair in order to describe the plight of women in Iran. After an initial description the woman asks Eduardo if she can call on him.

Actually, no. I live in a male only community with one other man, replies our friendly monk. Suitably abashed the woman retires and the two walk on. It is almost as though the monkish attire is invisible to certain members of the populace. The visit finishes with the pair embracing with a fairly long hug before Mary leaves for home. As the hug is under way Mary realises that this must be a most bizarre sight as a monk conducts a long embrace with a woman in the street in front of the citizenry of the metropolis.

During this last incarnation this particular weed he used as a relaxant. His body shape was now slimmer than in the latter part of his physical life. The message was for all those grieving for him to cease doing so, for he was fine. Another of Henry’s relaxing pastimes was to garden in the nude. Fortunately he and wife lived in a remote spot with no neighbours to be ‘surprised’ at his natural state.Henry one of the long standing and honoured members of the Temple Study Group, a group of mystical friends, passed to the great initiation beyond the physical. Friends and family were devastated at the loss of this humorous and kindly man. One night about 3am I was wondering around our flat unable to sleep. Suddenly an image of Henry came into my consciousness. He was sitting, very relaxed one leg crossed over the other smoking the heavenly version of a ‘spliff’.

Finally, friend Doug told me of two eccentrics with whom he is acquainted. One, a philosophy professor at Oxford University would conduct tutorials, one to one teaching sessions in his University rooms, with a curtain between him and the, no doubt, nonplussed students. He obviously had decided, as far as these sessions were concerned that the professor/ student relationship was not to be a personal one.

Perhaps the professor’s intention was to drive the students’ attention into the material being considered in the session. Thus the personality element of the meeting could be considerably reduced. Another professor at a different University would teach sitting beneath his desk well out of sight of his students! Perhaps he was of the view that teaching was a fine profession if it wasn’t for the students!