Edith Tintwhistle's Correspondence page

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Edith, darling, I just luuurrrve the site.  Whilst doing my own family tree, I came across the following
strays:
 
Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire
 
1 Oak Tree Lane
HOOD, Robin, 34, greensman and golf course designer, No-Fixed-Addressville
Marion, wife, 32, former handmaiden, Lower Cockup
 
3 Oak Tree Lane
JOHN, Little, 49, body painter, Greater Cockup
SCARLET, Will, 22, cellist in orchestra, Tiddleywinks
 
The Vicarage Rehabilitation Centre for Alcoholics
Mr. Tuck, 61, friar, Cockup cum Drizzle
 
Sherwood Forest Gaol
Mr. Sherrif, 42, bachelor & former male model, Castle-on-Puddle-over-Blanket
 
Castle Mews
KING, Richard, 55, commerical traveller & lion tamer, Cockup cum Drizzle
Queenie, wife, 54, button pearler, Cockup cum Drizzle
Prince, son, 22, architectectural critic for The Times, Cockup cum Drizzle
Princess, daughter, 21, party coordinator, Cockup cum Drizzle
Principessa, daughter, 18, Avon lady-in-training, Cockup cum Drizzle
Achmed, illegitimate son, 4, apprentice snake charmer, Jerusalem
 
 
Here's hoping that this added information won't put the site back into "crash" mode; I have faith in
Jasmin, Craig and Zak!!!
 
Denise

24 August 2002

Dear Edith

(if I may be so familiar)

I noted with interest that the Great Cockup test site was away - and it was with some trepidation that I entered.
And quite right that I did - I fear your trust in Zak has been much misplaced - he would appear to have overdone it yet again with the dru  medication because he has put things in there that are not true.

I refer to the entry below:
 

30

NOSEHAIR Hannah 46 Newsagent Wetwang
Elizabeth 13 Scholar Great Cockup.
Harriett 10 Great Cockup.
Flora 9 Scholar Great Cockup.
Alice 7 Scholar Great Cockup.
Ellen 4 Scholar Great Cockup.
DALWRIMPLE Hester H Boarder 48 Dressmaker Bury St Albans
Victor 7 Scholar Great Cockup.

Hannah Nosehair was never the newsagent at Wetwang ? as I recall she lived in a tent by the side of the old railway line, and was no better than she ought to be with all them kids. She never sent any of them to skool either ? so who knows what they were skolars of !  As I recall, when the nit nurse came to visit, she only spent 5 minutes in the classroom, the rest of the time she was in the headmasters car travelling round the green lanes looking for Hannah and her tribe, (or so I was told.)

Anyway, I hope you will have a word with Zak, and point out the error of his ways with that one.

On a better note, I managed to find my cousin, Edward Grungepuddle, although I have to point out that he was never as good at the job as yours truly ? for years I hve been entiltled to the letters GSS following my name, having always been excellent at general shi    shifting of other peoples whatevers.

Anyway, thank you for your efforts ? can I enquire when we may look forward to publication of the earlier stuff, as this is where my interest lies ? I know all there is to know about 1901 and Cockups
(well, sort of)

Best regards
Cecilia Lampwick (nee Farquaharson)
 

Dear Mrs Lampwick

Thank you for your letter pointing out the supposed error in entry number thirty. In fact I have checked and this is a faithful reproduction of the information on the original document. However keen observers may have noticed that the place 'Portishead' near Bristol has been inaccurately transcribed in a most unfortunate way.

Thank you for your generally encouraging words.

Best wishes

Edith Tintwhistle

3 April 2002
 

Dear Cousin Edith,

With Cousin Margery's family research now so close to 1900 , I have been
so looking forward to the census to find out more about George and Eddie.  But such  extraordinary reports about the 1901 census have reached Australia,  I thought  I should ask you what the situation really is, knowing that at the Library you'll have authoritative and accurate information.  We are so far away, and maybe the information is distorted by the time it reaches here.

The reports here have  said the date  when the census'll be online is
being  kept secret in case anybody should  use it.  How odd.   I had the
idea that it was for people to use. I must have had a Senior's Moment
about that.

Quinusless  also is quoted as saying  that if it gets the same demand as
last  time it will fall over again because they can't afford the bigger
servers it really needs. The falling over bit worries me. Would the local doctor in be able to help?

Cousin Edith, is all this true?  What do Zak and Craig say ?  If it is true,  one wonders what Quinuseless have been doing all this time. And what has happened  to all our voucher money? I do hope Quinuseless hasn't put it on the dogs or drunk it!  To buy my vouchers I had to forgo  an Army Widows' Assoc. film afternoon, and not have my usual  quarterly  perm.

We have been told that  questions have also been raised about the accuracy of the transcription since   the Lord Chancellor's Dept have said that 78 per cent of the transcription  was  undertaken on the Indian subcontinent. Has our dear Queen's husband  made one of his pertinent comments about that?   He is so perceptive and always gets to the heart of the matter. Most refreshing.

Being so far away from Great Cockup where it is all happening is such a
disadvantage. But I do value your help, dear Edith, and hope that you
will be able to put my mind to rest about these matters.

Take care of yourself, and be sure to get plenty of sleep.

Cousin Charlotte

3 April

Dear  Charlotte

Something is happening at last. Zak has just replaced our standard grovelling excuse page with a 'file not found' page whilst he gets ready to 'upload' the census to our server. He says "fingers crossed that we can keep this quiet because it won't  work if more than a handful of people try to use it."

Edith
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

“The Rhigi”
Resthaven Inc.
Sunrise Avenue
Boston
MASS.

Dear Miss Tintwhistle

Today, during on-line recreation hour, I had the misfortune to come across your horrible website. Why horrible you say? Well, I want you to know here and now that Charles Assenberger, the butt of a vulgar joke in your so-called biography, and the subject of a piffling pathetic piece of elderly teenage mental meandering by a cretin calling herself Phyllis Blatherby, is my late and beloved husband.

Charles was a war hero and highly decorated for his exploits which do not include seducing stupid girls in foreign lands. Charles was in his lifetime, a very successful real estate broker in the1960s land boom, and the bulk of his fortune has now gone into setting up the Federal Institute for the Fertility - challenged & Impotent (FIFI). Let me tell you that Charles lost his potency and gained his decorations in a daring and successful attack on The Enemy. The medals had pride of place in our hall cabinet and now reside in my bank vault since my admission to “The Rhigi”. As for Zacchariah........what nonsense. Let him...if he exists outside the mutterings of an old woman, dare to come forward and we’ll see what my attorney makes of HIM!

I’m now going to the on-site beauty parlour for a facial to help me cope, and the on-site drug store to get my pills. Maybe then I’ll feel better.
 
 

Yours in anger but with all her marbles

Bernice Assenberger
 

Dear Miss Tintwhistle,

I am sorry to hear of the problems you have had publishing the 1901 census
on the internet and I would like to take this opportunity to introduce our
company and ,how can the business partnership we offer be of benefit to you.

With over 35 years expertise gained supporting the Government and Private
Sector, and with continued strong growth in Outsourcing and Infrastructure
Mismanagement, International Computers Unlimited used to be a farce to be
reckoned with.  Soon to be operating under the Fudjitso brand name as
Fudjitso Services, the rationalisation programme we have completed has
enabled us to sharpen our focus on our business partners needs. We have
removed much of the 'dying wood' within the organisation and closing the
paint manufacturing division has enabled us to concentrate on our core
competencies. What is left of our teams of expert developers. many of whom
have recently set new attendance records at university, are ready to provide
solutions to your problems.

Our Market Development Consultants, Botchit, Robbum and Scarper have
identified many synergies we share with the Cockups, having both breadth of
experience and versatility. The partnership we are offering will allow us to
work with you and your clients to provide highly specialised secure
e-business services, whilst enabling us to further enhance our presence in
the strategically important library market place.

On a personal note, I believe my Grandfather Archibald (Colonel (Rtd)) has
already written to you.  Please forgive his bluntness, something happened to
him during the war, apparently, that altered his demeanour forever but he
never talks about it. He retired from active service in the 1950's after
distinguishing himself with the 8th Dorset Light Tipplers  during an action
following the Battle of the Bulge.  The action was exceedingly heavy for a
Light Tipplers unit and only my uncle (then a Lieutenant) and two others -
Private Parts and an unknown Sergeant who was killed by a badly aimed stale
Cornish pastie flung from a passing NAAFI lorry the next day - were left
standing at the end of the action.  He now resides at "Dungirtling", Abbots
Roodbotham.  I have fond childhood memories of my grandmother, Victoria, one
of the Evenmoor Cockups who originally hailed from Evenmoor Cockup on the
Wold, telling me  a sheep shagger was a person who treated sheepskins with a
special ointment or liniment which made the wool fluffier, or shaggier.
This was an arduous and dangerous task often carried out at night when the
sheep were calmer.  Sleeping above the barn she would often hear the young
men hard at it in the field next door after returning from the Pig and
Whistle in the early hours of the morning - though I never did find out why
my Grandmother was in the Pig and Whistle so late at night.  I believe that
is where she met my grandfather, but it's all very hush-hush.  Victoria had
a younger sister, a very pretty, studious girl named Blanche, who was
studying Latin, the Roman Empire under Julius Caeser and Toadwangling at
Cockup Ladies Boarding College.  Blanche  helped Victoria with her work when
she able.  Unfortunately, when Blanche was barely 16 she had a terribly
tragic accident. One night, on her way home from Victoria's workplace, she
was knocked over by something small chasing a speeding tricycle; she fell,
unnoticed by the sheep shaggers, into the field next to the barn and was
found, unconscious, the next morning.  She was in a deep coma, and only
regained consciousness 11 days later when the Vicar came to visit.
According to my grandmother, all the time she was unconscious she had a
strangely serene, contented expression on her face and kept murmuring
something that sounded strangely like "Et Tu, Vicar?".  She couldn't
remember what had happened that night, despite many hours of counseling with
the Vicar, and shortly afterwards left with the Parson to carry out some
missionary work with the pigmies of South America. The Parson's navigation
went a bit awry one night after trying to concoct a new batch of Midwife's
Tonic using native ingredients, he turned the wrong way down one of the
jungle tracks and bumped into a group of hungry cannibals.  All that was
found was the Parson's nose.  Blanche, now 18, moved to America "where Doris
Day came from", joined an entertainment company and became quite famous.
She married a wealthy, elderly American businessman (Josh Hackenstack, I
believe) and had one daughter, Dolores, I think.

I would welcome the opportunity to discuss these matters with you at greater
length one evening, perhaps over dinner in the Pig and Whistle?

Yours sincerely,

Jake Hanglider-Smythe

PS
Please excuse any typo's, additional or inappropriate punctuation, etc, but
following the rationalisation program we seem to have lost all our
secretaries. I know there is a dictionary-cum-spell checker somewhere on
here but I haven't been able to get past that bloody animated paperclip
thing yet to find out how to work it.
 
 
 
 
 

St Preservus  Home for the Incompetent
Much Cocking in the Marsh

21st Feb 2002

Dear Miss Tintwhistle

With the aid of my Zimmer-top computer I have been following your correspondence with great interest, but considerable guilt.  It is a relief to share my secret with someone at last. I am writing to you with information that will clear up once and for all the sorry tale of Reginald's birth, in 1900.  At this time my mother was the village midwife at Great Cockup.  The two of us lived in a hovel on the outskirts of the village.  This dwelling had one small room with a semi-detached pigsty at the back which contained a home-made distillery.  This facility not only supplied my mother with the tipple compulsory for midwives at that time but also the neighborhood.

Midwifery is, of course, the second oldest profession in the world.  My mother used to say she had tried the first oldest for a few years ('but look what that got me' - she would add, eyeing me grimly).  Anyway, she was keen that I should follow in her midwife footsteps and would always take me out on birthings with her.  When the calls came she would mount the cast iron tricycle that Jonas had made for her before vanishing up north.  (She had tried a bicycle but fell off it a lot, probably due to over-zealous quality checks of the distillery product).  The tricycle had full suspension and an ingenious contraption on the back which enabled her birthing chair to be towed along behind it.
This birthing chair was a magnificent structure on wheels which looked rather like the commode I have at present in the corner of my room only without the potty, just a big hole in the middle of the seat.

Invariably the calls came in the middle of the night, and this summons to the Manse was no exception.  At my mother's shout, I rose from my pallet near the cold hearth and dashed out to the tricycle outside the hovel. I must have been about 5 years old at the time. If I was quick enough I could leap upon the birthing chair attached behind the trike, otherwise I would have to run like mad behind.  I blame this nocturnal activity for my short stature, but I still have very developed leg muscles.  This particular night I made it in time, and as my mother pedaled furiously into the night, midwifery instruments clanging against her hip flask, I held on for grim death to the arms of the birthing chair (which had no suspension), trying not to fall through the hole in the middle as we bounced through potholes and muddy bits.

Soon, we reached the Manse where sounds of muffled moaning came from an upstairs room.  No sooner had we dragged the chair up to the master bedroom and sat the Lady Sedgby (one of the Widdowson girls) on it than she delivered a strapping baby boy. Lady Sedgeby' husband Lord Henry had been away in Malaya for almost a year (he had made millions out of condominiums or somesuch) but was due back any time.  My mother cut the cord quickly, bundled the baby up and thrust him into my arms.  "Run like the wind to Gertie", she told me and I went, holding the baby tight to me.  The Toadblower cottage was about two miles away although Gertie wasn't often there as she worked as a parlour maid at the Manse.  When I arrived I knocked at her door and Gertie opened it and without a word grabbed the baby from my arms and shut the door in my face.  In the dawn light of the room I just had time to see a goat in the corner, waiting to be milked.

Well, this is my secret - Reginald was not Gertie's son, she was Lady Sedgeby's.  We never spoke of that night, my mother and I.  A few years later my mother left the village, saying she was going to Calcutta to nurse street buggers or something, and I never saw her again, or knew what became of her.  Me?  I became a doctor.  In fact, I was the first woman Surgeon-Gynaecologist, appointed to the highest nobility of the land, but that is another story (which also, incidentally, causes me considerable guilt, but no time for that now).

I am now 105, and beginning to feel my age, but I must say it has been a great relief to unburden myself to you.  I hope you will not think badly of me.

Yours truly,

(Dame) Minnie Hornblaster  F.R.C.A.S,   F.R.C.O.G,    G.P (and bar),  STD,  IUCD (twice removed)

St. Preservus Home for the Incompetent
Much Cocking in the Marsh.

P.S.  I forget to mention that I would very much appreciate a pastoral visit from your Vicar.  I have some photos passed on to me by my mother (I think from her first career) that he may find of some interest

P.P.S.  Just a little suggestion for Zak.  I can sympathise with his personal problem as this also happened to me (I think all that night running affected my glands) (In fact, I am sure it was the reason why I never received any requests for my hand in marriage). Anyway, I found that a good daily spraying with DDT was of some benefit.  DDT may no longer be available, in which case has Zak tried Harpic?  Only, warn him not to get it on his sensitive parts as it will cause Embarrassing Itching.

Go to the bottom of the Saga pages to look at the way Edith broke this news to Margery and Charlotte. See Margery's strong rebuttal and her proof that Dame Minnie is perhaps mistaken.
 

To The Matron
St Preservus  Home for the Incompetent
Much Cocking in the Marsh

28 February 2002

Dear Matron

One of your residents, a Dame Minnie Hornblower, has sent a letter to me
claiming that she witnessed a birth in May or June 1901 at the age of
'about five years old' She is now claiming to be 105 whereas in fact if
her story is true she would be 107.

I enclose a copy of the birth certficate of the child she talks about
and wonder if you could be as good as to testify to her mental state and
her actual age. At the very least she clearly cannot count and a child
psychologist of my aquaintance confirms that she must have been at least
five to have such clear memories.

Thank you in anticipation of a prompt reply

Edith Tintwhistle

Edith Tintwhistle (Miss)
 

Copy of certificate enclosed

St Preservus  Home for the Incompetent
Much Cocking in the Marsh

Dear Ms Tintwhistle

Thank you for your request for clarification regarding the mental state of one of our most esteemed residents, Dame Minnie Hornblaster (please note the correct spelling).

I regret I am unable to assist you at this time as this would necessitate breaking patient confidentiality. In the meantime, thank you for your interest in the St Preservus Home for the Incompetent.

Your sincerely
    Doreen Doughty

Doreen Doughty
Matron-in-Chief
PS.  Now then, Edith, this must go no further.  Actually, the old bird is as sharp as a knacker's switchblade.  105, my elbow.  The problem is, she's much too vain to say how old she really is.

I'll give you an example that happened only yesterday. This funny-looking bloke claiming to be a vicar arrived on the doorstep wanting to see her.   Pastoral visit he said, my foot.  He was really weird. (The only thing holy about him was his socks).  Anyway, I head her telling him she was 95, the flirty old trout.  Next thing was, he was in her room. See what I mean?

I took her up her usual noggin and valium half an hour later to make sure she was all right, you get some very funny types round here. Anyway, there they were in deep discussion, poring over some old photos which she was explaining to him with the aid of what looked like anatomical diagrams.  I asked him if he was OK as he was breathing heavily and looked a bit flushed.  He said he was fine and left shortly after clutching a large brown envelope and telling her he'd be back next week. She even blew him a kiss goodbye!

Truthfully, Dame Minnie's a great old girl, a real goer if you get my meaning and I love her to bits.  She said the vicar's visit had been her best afternoon for ages.  Actually, she's nearer 112 than 107 but don't tell her I told you or she'll clout me one with her Zimmer.

Dame Minnie's told me to look at the Gt Cockup website, including her confession.  A few thoughts if I may.  Regarding the discrepancy in the years - wasn't 1900 the year that Gt Cockup changed its calendar from the Julian to the Gregorian or something?

You would have to ask Dame Minnie about the money given to Gertie, she remembers everything that happened long ago but she hasn't told me anything about it.

Lastly, I sense that stress is rearing its ugly head in Gt Cockup.  We do a very nice stress reduction package here at good old St P.  A carefully constructed programme of hypnosis and counseling by specially trained counselors (my best friend Pat, actually who has just completed a distance learning package on depth one-to-one counseling).  She is very experienced and understanding.  In fact, the vicar met her on the stairs and has booked himself in for a session next week after visiting Minnie.

Remember - this must go no further, my professional reputation is at stake, not to mention my physical wellbeing if the old girl finds out.

DD
 
 

25 February 2002

Dear Edith

I feel I must put pen to paper, to use an old expression. I was browsing through your most interesting web site today and came across the story of romance between yourself and an American called Chuck. As I read, my blood ran cold, and sweat beaded my brow. I left the computer and had a cup of tea, a Bex and a good lie down, in order to collect my thoughts and decide how to approach this delicate mission.

Chuck!! Surely this can’t be the same Chuck who took my all so long ago! Or can it be?

After the end of WW2, I was a budding woman, ready to face the New Age of Post War Freedoms and Responsibilities. At 17, I watched my two older sisters having a wonderful time. Their lives were taken up with dates, mostly with American GIs who lingered in Australia after the Pacific war. They were most desirable dating partners, being so gentlemanly, and having such generous Army Pay. They also had silk stockings (thought heavens know why the US Army provided such things), and lovely American accents.

One evening, my sisters were getting ready for another night on the town dancing at the Trocadero with their American dates, when the doorbell rang and in came three GIs instead of two. They were such handsome, polite boys that even Mother was entranced. They brought flowers and silk stockings for Mother. The third GI introduced as Chuck, had no-one to partner him to the dance. Of course, I pleaded with Mother, who kept a weather eye on me, but the silk stockings tipped the scales and for once, I was allowed to join the party. Chuck had the most wonderful blue eyes with baby crinkles around them......I feel a little skip in my heart even now, thinking of him (with apologies to my dear departed Stanley).

How can I go on? The memories are bitter-sweet even today. That evening led to a web of deception. I knew Mother would never allow me to “get entangled” (as she called it), with an American GI, and this led to Chuck calling at my bedroom window which opened onto the back verandah, well away from Mother’s room. ( I note with irony Edith, that you also had window experiences with your Chuck). Each time he had a night off, we would meet in this inappropriate venue....my bedroom. I feel so ashamed as I write.....

Chuck declared his feelings for me and of course, Judging from what I had learnt from many romance films and a magazine called “True Confessions”, I was hopelessly in love with him. I page-boyed my hair and put glycerine in my eyes to be just like June Allison. Alas joy was short-lived. Chuck tumbled through the window one evening with
presents and flowers and announced that he was saying goodbye! I was thunder-struck! In all the films I’d ever seen, the handsome boy always married the beautiful girl and you knew that they lived happily everafter. I told Chuck that we were going to have a little stranger coming into our lives and he said something which sounded like “What a cock-up”.
But of course, I was terribly confused andI found out later that his Unit was posted to an English town called Cock-Up; I knew Chuck would never speak disrespectfully in front of a lady. Chuck disappeared through my bedroom window, never to be seen again. The flowers are preserved in a dried state in my teenage album of memories, but the stockings were soon laddered I fear.

Mother was wonderful under the circumstances, and ignored the continual inuendo from neighbours when I went interstate to Adelaide for an extended holiday with some of my less well-off country cousins.

Little Zacchariah was adopted by a very superior Adelaide family, and although it was not the “done thing”, I was able to follow a little of his progress over the years....such a clever boy too.

I met my late husband Stanley, some years later in the clerical area of the Taxation Department. Stanley and I were never blessed with a family.

Zac is a father himself with three lovely grown up children: 2 girls Deborah and Melissa and a boy, Zacchariah. I know this as Zac himself did some family research in the hope of finding his biological mother (sounds so scientific, doesn’t it!). We finally met over a cappucino in Lygon Street . Clearly, there is no relationship beween that rather odd Zak person in your library at Cock-Up; just another co-incidence, although young Zac has established himself in some computing thing overseas, I’m not sure where.

What do you think Edith? Were we both abandoned by the same window-hopping Chuck from America? I hope this doesn’t sadden you too much, harking back to heady days of youthful folly.

Yours sincerely and sympathetically

(Mrs.) Phyllis Blatherby

Mrs Blatherby, may I call you Phyllis?

Oh dear I'm so confused and angry and have had to take two St John's Wort tablets on hearing your story. I don't know what to think to be honest and will have to go and lie down..
I will get back to you later.

Edith Tintwhistle

Dear Edith,

I thought you might like to know why the Qinuseless people are taking so long to get your little census "on line", whatever that means. My dear departed mother used to say that the only thing you should put on line was your outer
clothing, and your smalls should be dried indoors. However, I digress. This morning, tiring of looking at a computer screen full of complaints about 1901 - is that a French perfume or something?- I decided to take my Bessarabian Craphound for a blowout on the downs overlooking Portsmouth. Imagine my surprise to find a large compound surrounded by barbed wire, with "Qinuseless" on the gate.

It seems that Qinuseless are trying to develop some sort of large ear-trumpet to spy on the French, because the compound was full of large curved devices facing roughly in the direction of Over There. (One passer-by said they were to listen to the arguments in Portsmouth Council concerning some sort of tower they are trying to build, but nobody in their right mind could be doing that!).

To judge by the number of glossy cars to be seen in the car-park, all their energy is being spent on this activity, leaving no time for a solution to the Great Cock-Up. May I suggest that instead of the Yellow Pages, next time you try putting a
card on the notice board in Homebase? I believe they do not charge for this service, and you do see such a better class of person in there, compared to, say, B&Q.

I am looking forward to coming into your library sometime in the future, to further the paper I am writing for our local historical society on "English Library Books and their Missing Pages". Colonel Whindjammer has been very encouraging - says this is the sort of paper that many people can use on a daily basis.

Yours in expectation,
Horace Procto-Laryngoscope, M.D.

Thank you doctor. Please send me a copy of your paper when it is published.

Edith Tintwhistle (Miss)
 

Dear Edith,

We in the bottom of the world, where, of course to you Poms, we are all topsy turvy ! ( I have dedicated a lifetime to hours in the bath trying to prove the theory of which way the water DOES  go  down the plughole!)..are all becoming more and more concerned about your ongoing problems in Great Cock-up.

We would like to offer you some help/suggestions , even if it is only by  e-mail.

1. If you need money, we suggest you contact "Mrs Bucket and her sister Rose"( of Keeping up Appearances)  who would surely be able to make good money on the side. Rose comes across as  a generous creature , likes  vicar(s) and sure to donate the  earnings. And Mrs B. has  outstanding organising abilities? We assume of course you have in the past had time to watch Television..

2.Our ancestors, of good stock ( ie not convicts, Mrs Everidge !) having arrived in NZ 150 years ago, learnt to cook over wood fires in a FernHut ( name =  Maori Whare).  We therefore can give you some recipes for scones, , even "casseroles" from primitive days !  to cope  with unexpected multitudes of visitors. They cook in your oven overnight...certainly a trifle hard, but good ongoing  business for the local Dentist,  in Great Cock Up.
.
 P.S. Don't take any notice of  Bruce( junior)..the  brash Aussies  our neighbours, down here, are good blokes. They mean
well!!
.
 Finally don't quote  my email address as I will be inundated with requests for  the family   recipes.

 Yours with great concern.....  Sunny  Doonunder.
 

Dear Mrs Doonunder

I have to say that on any subject which includes television. I really have no idea what you are talking about dear. I did watch Crackerjack when it had Eammon Andrews presenting it but since the I feel the medium has gome downhill. I would however like to have you scone recipe.

Edith
 

Dear Edith,

I will not be able to search for, and edit the scone recipe,because something very exciting has happened to me.! I have been invited to present a "Paper" to the "Worldwide Plughole's Variant Water-Travel -Path Association", annual Conference in  Antarctica, later this month..Bearing in mind your  marvellous geographical area, I will definitely suggest Cock Up, whether Up or Down,or Around,  as a suitable  venue for future investigation(s) on this far-reaching subject.. And in addition I forsee Mr Wellwisher's idea of  the use of toilet paper, as a BRILLIANT  marketing  quintessence ( excuse the pun, Zak)...If  a demand  for a professional database should develop, when ( ie which week?) will Quinuseless
be available to undertake  such a project?

Yours...   studiously  researching in the Bath, for  at least 5 days,

SUNNY ..
 

If you need a control group of plug holes in the Northern Hemisphere then don't come to  Great Cockup since very few of the houses have proper baths.

         Edith

Yeah, well I did think of that.  ..do you still have the"geyser"  system?!!     I love your site, with such fun..it's marvellous to have a good laugh !!  Keep on with the good work!!  cheers

Sunny

I really must register my displeasure at the remarks you have made agains my son Zachary. For the record I would like to assure you that he comes from a very clean and tidy home and I have taught him rigorously the value of cleanliness.  I contacted him at his latest digs shortly after reading your email and he assures me he has been washing thoroughly before going into work each morning. Apparently he is sharing a room with a young lad called Triton, who works at the local Blue Cross rescue centre.  He is known to bring home some of the more unfortunate cases and they are currently fostering a young black tom cat called Beelzebub, who has taken a liking to his Marilyn Manson T shirt.

I did ask Zachary why he was clearly not using the all over body splash I bought him for Christmas and he informs me he is saving it for a special occasion, he has a thing for young Yasmin from work. I suppose I should be glad that he is finally showing an interest in something without a grey plastic case but I am not enamoured at the idea of having a future daughter in law with a nose ring.  God knows what else she has pierced!

 Zachary has assured me he will shortly be purchasing some smarter clothes for work  - well chinos and a casual sweater arent that exensive are they but he is currently having to send most of his wages from Qinuseless to the Student Loans company.  Computer Science degrees do not come cheaply these days you know and he only graduated last year with what he describes as a desmond (2:2).

Anyway I am digressing, I hope this few lines assure you of his good character and upbringing.

Yours faithfully

Mrs Desmond Thackaray QC
 

Dear Mrs Thackary

I have had a very sleepless night worrying about my very public comments about your son Zachary. I have to say that I have been very stressed of late and that maybe this has impaired my judgement. I have noticed that Zak has less of a body odour than when he first arrived - he had spent some time in a hot car that day.

The young cat Beelzebub is something of a problem though. I enclose a picture of this creature sitting atop the library computer since Zak has taken to bringing it to work with him. It sits with its paws over the screen trying to catch the mouse pointer.

Once again sorry for any offence that I may have caused you.

Edith Tintwhistle
 

Dear Edith

I'm sorry to hear that  expectations at Great Cockup have been so
painfully deflated by Qinuseless undercalculating the level of
interest in the 1901 census. Possibly even a blind gibbon could
have told them to expect more than four hits a day, but hopefully
they will have learned by the experience in time for the 1906
census and double their estimates. I'm assuming that this has also
affected adjoining hamlets Nether Cockup and Great and Little
Foucup, as well as Lesser Stoufup?

My dear old friend Flossie in California had so looked forward to
researching her paternal lines originating in Nether Cockup (which
family tradition says originates from Cunobelinus), but has suffered
repetitive strain injury by pressing the refresh button on her
keyboard while at the census website, so she has decided to revisit
Sydney for the Mardi Gras instead. She says she gets some
brilliant ideas for her summer outfits there.

I note with interest that your surname is Tintwhistle. Some time ago
I followed a Tintwhistle line back to a Sir Anketin Twitwissel of
Twitwissle, Rutland. He fathered a remarkable brood of 37 children,
all of whom he mentions in his will, though unfortunately not with
his wife, and so the estate passed to a nephew. You may be
interested to know that in Twitwissle church there is a brass
memorial to Sir Anketin in full armour and it has 38 notches on the
sword. It has been rumoured that the last one was placed there in
the nineteenth century by a genealogist researching for the Texan
millionaire recluse Finton Twatweasel. The fact that Sir Anketin's
feet rest on what curiously appears to be a stetson, may have
something to do with this. Anyway, in the spirit of collaborative
genealogical research I would be most happy to pass on the
information to you if you are interested.

How exciting to receive mail from all around the world - except for
Australia of course - such coarse people. (How you must shudder
when you see those).

Librarians are a tough breed (well, the ones I have known are) so
battle on and hopefully all will be well by Christmas - perhaps even
the next one.

Best Always

Bubbles

P.S. What is a sheep shagger?

P.P.S. Flossie asks what is the vicar's phone number?

P.P.P.S. What's wrong with candlewick dressing gowns?
 

Thank you for you letter Bubbles

1. I have nothing against Australians- my newly discovered cousin is one
2. I don't know what a sheep shagger is
3. The vicar is ex directory and long may he stay that way
4. Nothing is wrong with candlewick dressing gowns.

Edith
 
 

Greetings from America where I am laughing hysterically at my computer screen so often, my youngest daughter peeks round the door to regard me with worried looks.

I am confident that I have never had relations within Great Cockup, though I must say that with regret.   Nonetheless, I have been thoroughly enjoying the daily intercourse this side of the Atlantic.  You can take the English blood out of England, but you cannot take the English sense of humour out of the English blood.  Carry on and keep it up.

Debra

P.S.  Have you a current snapshot of the Vicar, please?

Dear Debra

Thank you for your letter

I cannot imagine why anyone would want a picture of the Reverend Rodney Leartittle but I did find this one for sale at the back of the church, amongst the postcards of the graveyard and crypt . I dare not mention to him that it is being sent to America, as whenever your land is mentioned he goes on about The Sixties, San Francisco, Woodstock  and painted female bodies.
 

Kind wishes
Edith

"Dungurtling"
         Abbots Roodbotham

       9th February 2002

I write to express my heartfelt sympathy for the way in which all of you good people at Great Coc^kup Library are being abused by those people from Qinhelpless or whatever they are called. Being a military man, I have met a good few of those types before. All fancy words, long hair, T-shirts and computers but no good when it comes to real action.

May I ma^ke a suggestion that might help you to get rid of the Qindreadful people once and for all? My grandson Ja^ke knows a thing or two about computers. He even has one himself. I have seen him put a shiny dis^k into a slot ? he calls it a CV - and suddenly the entire 1883 census for Bechuanaland appears in front of him. If they can do it in Bechuanaland, why can’t we do it here in Great Britain?

Ja^ke says that I don’t understand what I am tal^king about and in any case it would ta^ke 147 of those CV things to hold all of your census because of the pictures. But why bother with the pictures? All those ancestors look the same in their blac^k dresses and cloth caps and they are all as ugly as the bac^k end of a bus (my mother Alice excepted). Just use words, good lady, and I say you could get them all on two CVs, one if you write small.

Please, however, do not consider doing all that writing by yourself. It will only add to the extreme stress you are under at the moment. There is no point in as^king those Qinhorrible people, they probably don’t know how to use a pencil if it isn’t connected to a computer. I myself would offer to help, but the medication wears off all to quic^kly these days. Perhaps, then, you could inquire as to whether the good ladies of the Women’s Institute would lend a hand or two. No doubt the vicar could also extract a favour from some of the younger members of the Mothers’ Union. I always found the ladies of both organisations most obliging when I was stationed at Great Coc^kup during the War. But, of course, I was younger then.

Yours sincerely

A. Hanglider-Smythe

Archibald Hanglider-Smythe
Colonel (Rtd.)
8th Dorset Light Tipplers Regiment

P.S.  My sister Gladys says to ask you if those Qinhopeless people are the same ones that fly model aeroplanes from the field near her place at Botchem Down and if they are will you tell them they can have the bits of the aeroplane back that crashed in her garden last Sunday but only if the say sorry for frightening her dog first. She also says she is looking forward to seeing herself in the census. She well remembers the nice young man who came round to ta^ke down her particulars.
 

Dear Colonel Hanglider-Smythe

Thank you for your very supportive letter. I have shown it to some ladies in the village slightly older than myself and they ask if you are the Private  Archie Hanglider-Smythe who was fined ten shillings in the Magistrates Court for a breach the peace outside the Lower Cockup Young Lady's College in 1944?
Zak says that only sad people fly model aeroplanes, which I don't understand as I would have thought it was fun.

Yours sincerely

Edith Tintwhistle
 

We here at the library in Cockup in the Marsh have absolutely enormous sympathy for the problems you have encountered with the Census. It is a story so full of drama, pathos and human emotion that it could hardly be created by the most furtive (or should that be fertile; someone has just borrowed the dictionary) imagination.

Certainly we have all been frustrated by the expectations of the Great British Public (who may still be British and Public but have failed to be Great since we lay down in front of our European cousins - not that this is any place to talk about poor Miss Abedwego and her experience with that Italian Count who sold ice cream). I myself have had strange people banging on the library door at odd hours demanding access to my terminal. Alas, I fear the vicar - who is notoriously anti-techno - will have become confused as to my activities.

Mind you, I myself am by no means amongst the most enthusiastic having had a very NASTY experience from using those message boards set up by our American friends. A man, who I can only presume to be the product of years of in-breeding in small communities in Tennessee, has been badgering me because he and I share the same surname (but fortunately my forenames are not Oscar or Dalrymple), saying that he's looked on the map and Dorset and Northumberland look close together so I do I think we are related?

I, dear Edith (if I may be so personal) am southern born and bred - and that's southern as in England not in Mason-Dixie - and my forebears on all sides have never come from north of Salisbury (wherever that is). Heavens to Betsy (and that's another story altogether), it is unbelievably GHASTLY that this new technology can leave one open to approaches from individuals you've never met but can't deliver what you've been promised for the last ten years. But there we are, I feel so much better for having got that off my Muster Roll.

Please accept my deepest feelings. I am outraged at your inconvenience but we keepers of the literary flame in isolated places, must endure these slings and arrows of outrageous fortune in our quest to provide enlightenment and on-line access.

Constance Lamplighter

I do hope you won't overdo things during your long wait for an enhancement.
According to my computer manual, "a week" is technical jargon for an
indeterminate length of time which ends "When Everyone's Eventually
Knackered".  I am concerned that your young advisers - especially Craig -
may have considerably more staying power than your goodself.

Promise me you will at least have a soothing rub down with hot oils the next
time Felicity drains her sump.  Your early retirement might even be the best
option.

I have heard rumours that the 1911 census is to be made available through
supermarkets so that the "ordinary Sir/Madam" need not annoy Qinuseless by
trying to log on.  Toilet roll manufacturers are experimenting with smaller
cardboard tubes so that increased tissue length will hold a complete
Registration District.  Different pastel shades will be used for each
county.  There are concerns, however, in case this format causes trouble for
family historians down-under.

Yours
A. Wellwisher

p.s. I am relieved to say I have no family connections with Great Cockup.
Wellwishers have never been widely distributed throughout the UK.  In fact,
after years of dedicated research, my family tree only has three names on
it.

Felicity uses her sump oil for salad dressing

Edith

Dear Edith,

I have been trying to logon on to the 1901 census for some weeks now, but
all I ever see is a message about it not being available till next week.
I hope my question is not too technical and please don't brush me off with
any bullsh_t jargon to confuse me (afterall I am only an Aussie).
My question is: "When is next week?" - I can't find it on my upside down
calendar and I am confused about when I should access the census site.

I have tried logging on at different times to no avail.
I know you POMs are somewhat behind, and I always thought it was just hours,
but maybe it really is tens of years, as my uncle Bruce likes to tell us at
the family BBQ each Sunday Morning.

I do not have a refresher button on my keyboard (perhaps I should see my
mate Paddy at the markets about filching a new one).
I have tried to use the "Print" button instead, but this just jams my
printer.
On the screen however there is a "REFRESH" Icon, but I do not have a touch
screen.  Would you recommend I buy a touch screen, as I have more money than
sense.

Please respond immediately then I will know the exact time I should be
logging on - What time is now in the Northern Hemisphere?

I am assuming of course that your census site is connected to Australia.  If
this should not be the case can you please find my family for me.
I enclose their details:
Dwelling: No 25 College Rd
Census Place: Great Cock Up, Berks, England
Source: FHL Film 134211 PRO Ref RG11 Piece 4325 Folio 24 Page 9
Marr Age Sex Birthplace
William EVANS M 27 M Lower Cock Up, Berks, England
Rel: Head
Occ: Sheep Rustler & Shagger
Elizabeth A. EVANS M 28 F Lower Cock Up, Berks, England
Rel: Wife
William H. EVANS 8 M Great Cock Up, Berks, England
Rel: Son
Occ: Scholar
Ada EVANS 4 F Great Cock Up, Berks, England
Rel: Daur
Hannah B. EV 11 m F Great Cock Up, Berks, England
Rel: Daur
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------
RG12 3198 Fiche 3 Parish of St. Barnabas 55 Ashworth St. Great Cock Up.
William Evans Head Mar. 36 Sheep Rustler & Shagger(employed) of Lower Cock
Up, Berks
Elizabeth A. Evans Wife Mar. 38 of Lower Cock Up, Berks.
Ada T. Evans Daur. Single. 14 Great Cock Up, Berks.
Hannah B. Evans do. 10 Scholar of Great Cock Up, Berks.
Catherine A. Evans do. 7 do of Great Cock Up, Berks.
Sarah A. Evans do. 2 Mnths of Great Cock Up, Berks.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------
 

If you require payment for such a service, please don't hestitae to ask and
I will pop down to Bondi and find some credit cards in the Pommy
backpackers' gear whilst they are getting pissed & burnt (they are the
easiet dopes to pick off).

That is all for now. Be quick with an answer as I need to meet the Sheilas
in the pub in twenty minutes. They don't drink Root Beer for nothing you
know.

HooRoo,
Bruce (junior) Everidge
 

Dear Mrs Everidge,

In spite of your rather coarse language - which I can forgive in an Australian, I have been able to oblige.

Yours sincerely

Edith Tintwhistle

Dear Miss Tintwhistle;I have read with interest your reply to Miss Margery Toadblower-Fairfackson, in which you said your mother was Charlotte Hartley of Upper Cockup.  That tantalizingly titillating tidbit leads me to suspect that your mother was a direct decendant of my acknowledged ancestress Charlotte a.k.a. Lotta Cockup, daughter of Robert aka Bob Cockup and Charlotte (Lotta) Bogs, all of Lower Cockup and Bog's End.  There have always been a lot of Cockups in Bogs End.  Lotta Cockup was a mysteriously popular girl with all the lads, despite her rather pudding-faced looks, press-board figure and drab personality.  They, and the previous vicar, must have seen something in her that no one else could. No doubt you are aware that it was Bob Cockup's family which lent it's name to Lower, Upper, East, West, North and South Cockup before their earliest known ancestor went toes up.  Some branches of the family are known as Babcock today (a corruption of Bob's name linked to the surname).   This all because Bob was the last Cockup of any consequence and the Cockups needed all the lustre they could get.  Why they thought cutting off the end of the well-known Cockup name would aid in this, I do not know.Also, I am delighted to inform you that I do know where Gertrude Toadblower disappeared to when she departed knocked up from Cockup.  'Gertie the Goose', as she was known by those same lads who so admired Lotta Cockup, was the daughter of Todd Toadblower (a flatulent broad bean grower) and his wife Violette Jit-Sweatmore (a hardworking laundress).  You did get the name of Gertie's younger brother right though, (Albert) Al L. Toadblower.   A later-born son was called Iliad, and nicknamed Id Jit-Sweatmore Toadblower.  Violette thought adding her hyphenated maiden name as a middle name gave tone to the tiny Toadblower tots' titles. There was much speculation as to where the quickly gaining in girth Gertie had gone.  Some guessed Worcestershire as the destination for the saucy maid who never used condiments and were right.  There she gave birth to her son Ilia Jit-Sweatmore.   She must have used her mother's maiden name so her wrong side of the blanket, boy babe's birth would not bring the much admired Toadblower name into bad repute.  More proof she did not marry the babe's fleet footed father.  The boy was raised in the worst parts of Worcestershire.  Later he and his mother moved many miles to Better-Basket-Upon-Barrow, became a butcher and eventually brought fame to his name with his links to Sweatmore's Worcestershire Wurst Works.  His social conscience pricked by his base birth, Ilia donated much of his wurst wealth to providing free condiments to the poor.Ilia never knew for certain whether that dastardly devil Neville was his birth father until many years later.   But, after Neville Fairfax bought it by blowing up in the Boer War, Ilia did manage to acquire an early portrait of vile Neville.  He was delighted to discover he, Ilia, was a fair facsimile to his Fairfax father.Yours truly,Midge Jit-Sweatmore Toadblower

Dear Midge Jit-Sweatmore Toadblower

Hi!  Felicity speaking. Edith and I are replying jointly to your e-mail.

Goodness me! What a mystery!     If you have looked at the letter above yours you will see that we have another version of what became of Gertie. As a family historian myself I know the importance of verifying one's sources before adding anything to one's tree. Did Neville have a penchant for  Cockup Gals called Gertrude?  Was there more than one? Or did our Gerttie get about a lot?
Gosh. This is fun

Felicity  and Edith

3 February
 

I have just now come across some new and exciting information about the life and times of Ilia Jit-Sweatmore Toadblower (base-born baby boy of Gertrude Toadblower).  It is a bit indelicate of me to say this, but it blew the wrinkles out of my woad-stained bloomers to learn what had become of him!

Before now, I had only been privy to facts of his later years of success as a respected Better-Basket-Upon-Barrow businessman/butcher and owner of Sweatmore’s Works.  His less, laudable links to Sweatmore’s Worcestershire Wurst Works have only now come to my attention.  It was with shock and shame that I discovered what was concealed under cover until now.

Ilia’s dastardly dynasty all began by supplying snacks and other vile victuals to a putrid pub called "The Scurvy Weasel’s (surely stoat’s? Ed )Scullery".  No one knew that he had become the sibilant, silent partner in that self-same sub-standard, subterranean establishment.  It has come to my ears that in the earliest years, more than pork was on your fork when you bit into a juicy bite of Sweatmore’s Swine & Sage Sausage Surprise.  Heinously hideous, horrible, hidden ingredients that I dare not recount without risk of heaving!  Heavy handed with those same condiments his mother never used, he furtively obfuscated obvious odours and tastes with flagrantly fragrant, foreign flavours.   What he put into the Worcestershire Wurst Works wieners was worse!  Suffice to say it all brought up new meaning to the phrase, ill-gotten gains.  The wonder of it is that all this has not spewed into the public eye before now.   Back then, there was only the merest whiff that there might be more horse in his aptly named hors d’ouvres than poor patrons suspected; however much Sweatmore’s spokesman might neigh say.

I bring this to your attention because it would be dishonest of me to not tell the whole story.  No matter that it might cause embarrassment the descendants of the Jit-Sweatmore and Toadblower families to be linked to something so distasteful as the Works’ wursts and wienies.   In any case, don’t worry that it will affect our inexhaustible inheritances.  Well warned, we all unloaded the family’s Sweatmore stock shares swiftly when the company began trading publicly.  Needless to say, we all now disassociate ourselves from this profitable past Ilia link with illnesses.

I also wish to take this opportunity to inform that there is not one shred of evidence or truth to a persistent fable that the Toadblower name came from the desire of  Sir Humphrey "Beau" Gart to learn how to whistle.  It is also patently ridiculous to think that his devilishly diabolical cousin, Lorne Backall could have duped him into thinking he just needed to find the ‘right partner’, pucker up his lips and blow.  Everyone who knew Beau also knew he was incapable of thought.

Yours truly,
Midge Jit-Sweatmore Toadblower (Ms.)

 Edith replies:

I have to say that after the evidence of Gertrude Toadblower's birth certificate on the Toadblower Saga page I believe that this letter writer is a fraud.

G'day Miss Tintwhistle,

It was fair dinkum, as we say in Oz, to find you again after all these years. I was the callow youth whose ears you boxed in the library for misbehaving. Me and my mates used to look up the rude words in the big dictionary and snigger in the corner.

Well, I emigrated to Oz and made a fortune sheepfarming and it's all thanks to you, it was you that said I had a head full of wool. By the way I'm mailing back the book I borrowed and forgot to return 15 years ago, "How to Love", I didn't realise then it was Vol. 5 of the National Encyclopaedia.

Hope you get your census up and running soon.

Fred Thickpenny
 

Dear Fred

Yes of course I remember you. Your nose ran from November to March and you never had a handkerchief. I used to keep a box of Kleenex for you so that the books didn’t get marked.

I am so pleased to hear that you have done well and that I played a small part in providing the inspiration.

Sincerely
Edith Tintwhistle.

Dear Miss Tintwhistle

I was delighted to discover your site and, in particular, to note the reference to Jamie Toadblower.

As a local historian you will be aware that the Toadblowers are a branch of the old and noble Gloucestershire family of Toadlicker who left their native county (and changed their name in an attempt to end the tasteless jokes to which the family has always been subject) following the long and bitter lawsuit over the will of Old Joan Toadlicker. (Joan was the traditional name given to the eldest son of the family due to their believed descent from the child to whom Pope Joan gave birth during her enthronement in 822) The lawsuit ended after 32 years when the Court of Star Chamber decided that Old Joan was
entitled to leave 3/4p and his third best pair of long johns to his mistress, Cicely Bumtrinket. It further held that the theft of these long johns by Cain Toadlicker while they were being washed in the Severn amounted to piracy on the high seas and that Cain should be hung in chains at Wapping.

It has always been believed by the family that the Toadblower branch died out following their mass enlistment in the War of Jenkins Ear. They apparently took the Kings Shilling in the mistaken belief that victory would entitle them to timeshares on the Costa del Sol. En route to Spain they were captured by Barbary pirates and were last heard of as; in effect; the starboard engine of the galley "Saucy Sue", out of Algiers.

I wonder whether the full history of the Toadblowers could be researched. As they have been missing for 300 years there is no hurry about this and the job would seem well suited to your consultants whose name I misremember (was it Qinkiboots?).

I represent the Polish branch of the family who inherited the ancestral acre in the early 1900s and, pausing only to sell the family blackberry pickling business to an itinerant Armenian, returned to their historic patrimony.

Yours sincerely

Peter Tdlycka
 

3 February

Dear Mr Tdlycka

You pose an interesting hypothesis about the origins of the name Toadblower.
I have always gone along with the notion that the name is a corruption of the name ‘Turd bluer’. which goes back into antiquity.

In the days when even the wealthiest families made use of a midden,  any means to  sweeten the smell was eagerly sought after.

One method was by the use of a priceless but pungent oil, made, amongst other things, from sandalwood, myrrh and woad, the latter providing the blue colour. The recipe and the ingredients came from the East and was brought to the West by travellers, possibly wealthy gypsy merchants, the Turdbluers, an ancient aristocracy themselves due to their Druid connections and the extreme wealth they gained from providing kings and princes with pleasant conveniences. Only the very rich could afford this blue oil, hence the expression ‘blue blooded’ since blood was more polite a bodily substance to refer to than the contents of a midden.

Yours sincerely

Edith Tintwhistle

Dear Miss Tintwhistle

You raise some intriguing questions here.

I have always supposed Toadlicker to be a corruption of toad liquor following the families involvement of the well known mediaeval hooch marketed under the name of "Stride wide" and popularly supposed to be distilled from the offal of those unfortunate amphibians. Is it possible, however, that Toadblower is the older version of the name? Did the Turd Bluers merely buy the ingredients or were they importers? A suggestive string of references to the Near East is already apparent, not least your own families history of nub grinding which, as you say, "has Templar Connections". The first cousin of "The Old Man of the Mountains", Hassan ben Sabbah, was, of course, Mustafa ben Tud. It is also interesting, bearing in mind Hassan's leadership of the Hashishim that substance abuse appears to be a family trait (Neville Fairfax mistook a keg of gunpowder for something to drink; Grandmother Prudence died "of shame and gin" and Gertie fell into the ass coupling machine whilst under the influence)  Could we all be related to the Aga Khan who is directly descended from Hassan?

The name of the village may also supply a clue. "Brewers Dictionary of Phrase and Fable" to which I refer so often says that a cock is a small boat. The ideal thing for importing myrrh and what more simple than to name your home "cock up" on the same principle as "Dunromin".

Incidentally; why do the French name their puddings (Charlotte) after a young girl; the Australians (Melba) after an opera singer but we English (Spotted Dick) after an, apparently, diseased peasant?

Whilst on the subject of etymology is it possible that Qinqango named their company after "quinanchia", the Latin word for dog strangulation, from whence our English "quinsy"?

I remain Madam;

Your obedient servant.

Peter Tdlycka