April 1st and All That!

I don’t know when we, as children, first became involved in April Fools’ Day but I do remember my entry into the work force and trying to understand the ways of the world. Like most 18 year olds, I was more worldly-wise than my teachers, I knew better than my parents about everything. I knew that the way the world was run was all wrong and that youth was going to put it right with me at the helm. To sum this up, I knew absolutely nothing!

I suppose it first came home to me that I was not the solution to the problems on Planet Earth when I had a job at the Nairnshire Laundry. Most of the time, I was a van boy for this business. The driver was a man called Donald Mathieson. He and I would head up to the Highlands from Nairn on the coast, dropping and picking up laundry at hotels and private residences in the hills. It was an easy job amidst beautiful scenery. We would get as far as the village of Kingussie on the Monday, spend the night in a Bed and Breakfast and come back down through villages like Boat of Garten and Nethybridge, not forgetting the growing ski resort of Aviemore. In my early days, however, I was confined to the laundry itself with its industrial washing machines and driers and endless music and talk on the radio. I was sat in the rest room one tea-break, pretending to read my newspaper but really listening and watching the usual group of men playing dominoes. I noticed when one of them placed his double six triumphantly down that he mentioned to his mates that he needed a long weight for one of the machines upon which he was working. His mates nodded wisely and proceeded into a discussion about the workings thereof, none of which I understood. Eventually one of the men turned to me and said that as I was new to the company and low on the pecking order I should go down to the store room and pick up a long weight for them so that they could get the machine working again. Off I trekked.

The store manager was behind his counter in his long brown coat, the common attire of such positions at the time.

“What can I do for you, laddie?”

‘I’ve been set down to pick up a long weight”.

He indicated that he would have to go out back and look for one and was not too happy that he had to do so.

“Take a seat over there, son.”

So I sat. He disappeared into the recesses of the store room. I had left my newspaper behind. There were no cell phones to play with at the time, no TVs to watch on site but the radio blared on. I waited and waited. After about 15 minutes the store manager returned but said nothing. He opened one of his files and proceeded to write in it. After about 5 minutes I plucked up enough courage to speak to him.

“Er, did you get my long weight?”

He frowned, looked up.

“How long do you want it to be?”

“Er, they didn’t say.”

He flicked his eyes to the heavens.

“Well, you’ve been here about 20 minutes, that’s about long enough you can go back now.”

I hesitated, not wanting to go back empty handed, but he waved me away. The guys had finished their break and were back at work. They paused when I returned and asked where it was. They were not happy that I didn’t have it. I explained.

“He said that I had been there about 20 minutes and that was long enough.”

They all smiled. It slowly dawned and I grinned sheepishly.

“Next week we’ll be sending you down for a can of tartan paint.”

My first trip as a van boy into tourist country, found me bouncing out of the van and heading into one of the larger tourist hotels in Aviemore. I had my big work boots on, appropriate jeans. Donald explained that I would need to take the buggy to pick up the hampers of dirty washing. So I found myself in the bowels of the hotel and suddenly confronted by about half a dozen house maids who realised that I was young and new and proceeded to tease me mercilessly. I was crimson from head to toe, I had no reply to their merciless mocking and the more I displayed my timidity, then the worse it got. I had lost my jauntiness when I returned to the van, the skip in my step had left me. Donald chuckled knowingly. The following week I tried to persuade Donald to go in my stead. He was very strict about the division of labour. The driver did not do the van boy’s job. I ran my hands through my hair, anguished a delay, persisted a procrastination but to no avail. I learned to cope with the banter but was never able to give as good as I received. Work was about money but it was also about education. It took a long time for me to shrug off my chronic private school naivety. To the extent that when I was actually working in an hotel a year or so after my laundry experience, my nose was put out of joint when Arthur Trevenna, a veteran of the Spanish Civil War, called me a ‘pheasant plucker’. I was annoyed and unhappy. A friend noted my irritation that night and asked what was up and it was only then that I learnt that a ‘pheasant plucker’ was a compliment, a term of endearment.

So I have seen the apoplectic anger when a friend came into our house and picked up a North Shore News to discover that Eagle Ridge Bluffs was going to become the Mount Rushmore of BC with the heads of 4 BC Premiers being carved into the side of the mountain. I have witnessed the cardiologist at the foot of the Grouse Grind hike, determined to get as many hikes in as possible before a ticket booth was set up at the foot of the mountain and we were to be charged for the pleasure. Both were April Fools’ Day hoaxes, spawned by our local rag. But the worst and the best one happened to me and my fellow travellers in Jaipur in India.

“Top Deck Travel” consisted of two converted double decker buses, one called “Gonnor” and the other called “Rhea”, which were going to journey from Katmandu to London over a period of 11 weeks. We sat downstairs during the day and slept upstairs at night. We were in the town of Jaipur which is a wonderfully historical place in Rajasthan. We had a guide, who was showing us around this old historical building. We found ourselves in a courtyard. The guide explained that if we heard a siren go off, we were to lie on the ground, facing down and put our hands over our heads. This was because the siren signalled an attack from the air by Pakistani bombers. Relations between India and Pakistan were poor at the time. I felt my mouth flop open and my knees become weak. I could see the blood drain from the faces of my fellow travellers. None of us had signed up to enter a war zone. Suddenly our worst fears were realised, the siren sounded and quaking with fear we lay down as we had been instructed. I cannot remember what was going through my mind at this time. I was keen to see my family again after 18 months in Australia; Irene who was to become my wife was going to be following along from Australia herself soon after I had arrived home. Now it all seemed for nought. Except, except out of the corner of our eyes, we saw our guide standing in the middle of the courtyard in the process of lighting a cigarette. He had a smile on his face, blew some smoke into the air and, put his hand up against the glare of the sun and peered into the blue sky. He looked across at we westerners, lying terrified on the ground, hugging the flagstones for dear life and he said,

“In your countries, I believe you have something called April Fools’ Day.”

The siren had gone off in a local factory for the beginning or end of a shift. Our guide had almost succeeded in turning a group of happy go lucky travellers into a lynch mob. It took a few moments for us to appreciate the joke. But I don’t know how generous we were with our tips afterwards but I think that the guide felt it was worth the price!

Happy April Fools’ Day, Dear Readers.