Where Our Words and Phrases Come From

There is an old Hotel/Pub in Marble Arch, London, which used to have a gallows adjacent to it. Prisoners were taken to the gallows (after a fair trial, of course) to be hung. The horse-drawn dray, carting the prisoner, was accompanied by an armed guard who would stop the dray outside the pub and ask the prisoner if he would like one last drink.  If he said yes, it was referred to as one for the road.  If he declined, that prisoner was on the wagon.

They used to use urine to tan animal skins, so families used to all pee in a pot and then once a day it was taken and sold to the tannery. If you had to do this to survive you were piss poor, but worse than that were the really poor folk, who couldn't even afford to buy a pot, they didn't have a pot to piss in and were the lowest of the low.

        

The next time you are washing your hands and complain the water temperature isn't just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the 1500s: 

1. Most people got married in June, because they took their yearly bath in May and they still smelled pretty good by June. However, since they were starting to smell, brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odour. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.

        

2. Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying, don't throw the baby out with the bath water!

        

3. Houses had thatched roofs, thick straw piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs and other critters) lived in the roof. When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying it's raining cats and dogs. There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house. This posed a real problem in the bedroom, where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That's how canopy beds came into existence.

         

4. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt floors. Hence the saying, dirt poor. The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entrance-way. Hence a thresh hold.

      

5. In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that always hung over the fire. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and did not get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight, then start over the next day. Sometimes stew had food in it that had been there for quite a while. Hence the rhyme: Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot, nine days old'.  Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special ...

        

6. When visitors came over they would hang up their bacon, to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, bring home the bacon. They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around talking and chew the fat.

        

7. Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning and death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.

         

8. Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the upper crust.

        

9. Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a wake. 

        

10. England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people, so they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, thread it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the graveyard shift) to listen for the bell; thus someone could be, saved by the bell or was considered a dead ringer. 

So now you know ...

The Maori, the Orca Eye and the Miracle

Many years ago I took over a position of accountant from a man who had only been in the job for several weeks. I wanted to know why he’d been sacked. It seems he’d studied accounting at university for five years and had both a bachelors and a masters degree in business administration … but he did not know how to do the daily bankings. In fact, there was a great number of simple, practical, daily tasks he did not know about.

As A Course in Miracles tells us, words are but symbols of symbols. Words are not experience. Words are not knowing.

Having been both a student and a lecturer at universities, I have known some great intellects who have studied the words of the sages and have degrees in philosophy and theology. They can quote with ease from the Bhagavad Gītā, the  Koran, the Bible and many other sacred texts. They can tell me the genealogy of Moses, the eight limbs of Yoga and the story of Mohammed. Yet some of these learned men cannot tell me their experience of God.

Some of these men, of course, have had profound experiences of God – the deep, abiding peace, stillness and oneness that sweetens the soul and brings one home. But some have not.

I have also talked with Maori Kaumatua, Aboriginal Kadaiche men, South African Sangornas and Hopi elders who have read and written few words in their lives and, when asked about God, simply smile and become still. As they do, I feel their experience and realise there are no words for it.

Some time, in the long ago, I was staying in a hostel in Kununurra, in the north of Australia. One of the residents was a particularly obnoxious Maori chap who chain-smoked and swore loudly much of the time. He had a pot belly from too much beer and missing teeth from too many pub brawls.

One day, as I was sitting by the pool, Hone (his name) sat beside me and asked how I was. I braced myself, hoped he’d take his loud, nicotine-stained, beer-smelling self away soon and smiled as pleasantly as I could. He’d recognized me as a fellow Kiwi and wanted to talk about the homeland he’d not seen for too long.

Eventually, the conversation moved on to how this illiterate brawler had been a fisherman in the waters above Australia for nigh on twenty years. He explained how they’d drop one end of the net in the water with a crew member in the water to hold it. The boat would then run out the rest of the net for a mile or so and, eventually, return to the paddling man and trap the fish in the circle of the net.

One fine, calm day it was Hone’s turn and, as he paddled in the water, holding the net as the boat disappeared from his view, he prayed to a God he didn’t believe in for no sharks to appear. His non-existent God complied as no sharks appeared. However, what did appear was a killer whale, an orca. Panic-stricken, Hone’s body went rigid as the orca approached. It stopped side-on to him, it’s unblinking eye within arm’s reach.

As he told me this story, tears started down his cheeks for, as he said, he looked into the eye of God. He said this several times. As he looked into that orca’s eye he saw himself, he saw God. That’s the only way he could explain it and, in that moment, his heart and mine, his knowing and mine, connected. As two grown men shed tears and shared the experience of the Eye of God, no words were necessary. No words were possible. None at all.

When we recovered ourselves and others at the pool stopped staring at us, I asked him what had changed for him, since then. Nothing on the outside had changed – he still liked his beer and cigarettes – but something had changed inside him. As he’d looked into that orca eye, a lifetime’s anger and fear dropped away, never to return. He had hurt no one from that moment on and he even started experiencing more and more moments of peace – the smile on his face described that peace more eloquently than any words could. I’ll remember his cheeky and peaceful smile longer than I’ll remember any fine words. Thank you, Hone, for reminding me of God.

And now to Mary Collins' story, continued from the previous blog ...

"Don't move an inch! Stop, right there!" said Ahmed, evenly, stepping over the sprawled bodies. "Hands up! Now!" The tattooed man obeyed instantly. "Now, into the room here or I blow your knees off. Understood?" The man obeyed silently and walked timidly past Ahmed and into the room.

Angus rolled off the human pile and leapt across to pounce upon a pistol he just realised was lying by the felled man.

"Dangerous place, this London town," said Angus as he stood up with the pistol in hand, gingerly pointing it towards the prone man who groaned and leaked blood into the deep carpet. "Mary, can you call for an ambulance or something!" yelled Angus, recovering his composure and senses.

"Well, don't just stand there and stare!" shouted John, helping Sam and Mary up as curious heads appeared at doorways along the corridor. "Help this man here - he's been wounded. Tell the management, someone, and is there a doctor here?" Most heads quickly disappeared behind slammed doors and one man stepped forth.

"I'm a medical officer," he said as he knelt over the prone and groaning man at Angus' feet. Two uniformed hotel staff members appeared at the end of the corridor, with a first aid kit, as Angus left the medical experts to it and returned to the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Do we need the police as well?" asked Ahmed as he motioned the tattooed man to lie on the floor, face down.

"No, no police, believe me!" said Sam, tucking his grimy shirt in. "They could well be behind this … well, protecting those behind this."

"The police? Behind this?" asked Ahmed, alarmed, as he pulled the man's hands behind his back. "Has anyone got anything to tie these hands together, please?" Halee slipped off her tights and handed them to him. He smiled his thanks to her.

"Look, Sam," said Mary, straightening her suit, "I don't know what's going on with you and the police but we can't keep them out of it, can we?"

"Hardly!" said Belinda. "A gun's gone off, a man's lying in a pool of blood, people have been alerted and the ambulance is on its way."

"And what are they going to find when they come in here?" asked Halee. "A Kiwi tart, a Scottish woman dressed as a man, a Pakistani in costume, a scruffy pommy, a Scot and two M?ori guys. Questions might be asked, don't you think?" Everyone laughed at the strange spectacle they realised they would present.

"Well, we can run and keep running or we can stop and face it all, I suppose," said Sam, plonking himself down in a chair with a weary sigh. "Don't know about you lot but I'm quite fed up with running. Quite fed up, I must say."

"Well, my Da says ye can run but ye can never get away," said Angus, kneeling beside Ahmed as he tied the man's hands. "Yer sins will always follow ye."

"Our Da said that?" asked Mary, surprised. "I never knew he said anything wise in his life! But I have to agree - we're going to be surrounded soon and I don't know about you lot but I'm sick of pretending, sick of acting like I'm coping, sick of pushing against the damned wall, sick of, aah, I don't know, everything. I'm too tired to bother, actually." Sam stood to embrace her and she gave in to Sam's embrace. "But I'm not blooming well going to cry though," she said defiantly into Sam's chest.

"I committed a crime," said Ahmed. "I shot a man. I will not run from that. Never."

"But it was in self defence," said Belinda. "He was about to shoot Mary and Sam."

"Yes, Belinda, you may be correct," said Ahmed, smiling. "But I must let the law of this land decide that. Honesty and openness is peace of mind."

"You're absolutely right, Ahmed," said John. "Koia te kaupapa o te rangatiratanga, o te tika, me te maung?rongo o te ao. It is the foundation of freedom, justice, and peace in the world. So, it looks like we're staying so let's get this brother into a chair, a bit more comfortably because he's not going anywhere either!" John, Angus and Ahmed helped the stocky man roll over and get up into a chair. Sam and Mary sat side by side on one bed, Halee and Belinda on the other bed, Angus sat in the other chair while the two remaining men stood beside the seated man whose scared look was soon replaced by an embarrassed one.

"So what you all looking at?" he asked defiantly.

"Maybe you just tell us who you are and what you're doing here bro'," said John.

"Why should I do that? Who the hell …." said the man, who stopped as Ahmed took his pistol from his belt for the second time that morning.

"Perhaps you'd like to tell us exactly who you are and what you're doing here," suggested Ahmed evenly.

"Ah, yeah, I suppose it won't do no harm, pass the time of day," said the man, more nervous than defiant now. "Well, I'm Hemi Ropata and my tribe is Ngati Whakaue from Rotorua. That do?" Ahmed raised his pistol as if to examine it. "Oh yeah, you wanna' know te korero, the story, huh?"

"Yes we do, bro'," said John.

"Jeez, I could do with a smoke," said Hemi.

"Talk first, smoke second," said John.

"Yeah, right, te korero," said Hemi, squirming to make himself more comfortable. "Well, you see, these pakeha, these English people, stole some of our tapu taonga, our sacred pieces - three of them - and we wanted them back, see. We tried the government and the police and all that official shit … oh, sorry ladies, but they did nothing. Just a lot of excuses about, what they call it, official immunity or something."
"Diplomatic immunity," offered Sam.

"Yeah, that's it, diplomatic immunity," said Hemi, smiling at Sam. "So these diplomatic people took our taonga - pounamu, greenstone, from our tupuna, our ancestors - and the elders wanted to keep doing the stupid government thing but a group of us said, 'stuff that,' and so Eru and I, we's  volunteered to get the stuff."

"Why you two?" asked John, smiling knowingly.

The Ab-Original Journey - Part II

This story is continued from the previous blog ...

Szuson and I didn't see each other on the overnight trip but, as we got out at the Alice Springs station, she asked me where I was staying. I had booked nothing, trusting in providence, so agreed to go to the hostel she'd booked into. It didn't feel right, somehow, so I went in search of different accommodation the next morning.

I was drawn to a hostel in the main street and walked past it several times. Each time I got a feeling of rightness, a warmth, as I approached. I booked in, still feeling uncertain about why I was in Alice Springs, in this hostel and even why I had been prompted to come to Australia at all. I was given my key, went to my room and froze. On the shelf was a huge, white coffee mug with one word in bold red writing - Philip! It was even spelt, unusually, with one "l" as my name is. I opened the top drawer and there was a new, unopened, tin of boot wax.

I cracked up laughing, knowing that I didn't know why I was here but knowing I was in the right place. I finally relaxed.

The next day I joined a group of young people on a guided trip round Uluru  and Kata Tjuta* . From the moment I saw Uluru, my right eye started streaming and it stopped abruptly as we left the area, three days later. Sitting in the noisy bus - loud music and constant chatter - I was presented with many visions as the red, dusty desert flew past my window. It was as if I was remembering a time, long ago, when I was an Aborigine and we hunted kangaroo in groups. We'd call to the spirit of kangaroo and we'd be guided to an animal that had volunteered to feed us. It was apparent, in these dreamy/visiony things I was having, we could all talk to each other in our minds over very long distances. In fact, distance was irrelevant - we could (and did) do it sitting next to each other or hundreds of miles apart. There was also the mystifying - then terrifying - spectacle of strange white people coming to our land and the land cried to us in pain.

Back in Alice again, I didn't know what to do so I hired a car and drove west - "go west, young man," the advertisement said! I stopped often, walking up most (maybe all) of the gorges on the route and, at one point, I sat on a mountain ledge and felt like I was talking to a circling eagle and to the spirit of rain. Black clouds formed and I just made it back to the car as the heavens bucketed down for half an hour. I later discovered that it had not rained there for the last six years.

At the end of the road was a resort that didn't feel right so I drove back towards Alice and slept beside my car on the side of the road. Later I was told that was lunacy on account of the poisonous snakes and spiders that abounded. Not knowing what I don't know is sometimes a good thing.

The next day I went east of Alice and, late afternoon, I ended up at Ross River, a very rustic, very basic, very Australian, tourist place. It felt right and, as I booked in, I asked about horse riding - I hadn't been on a horse for a long time and, seeing them in the yards, yearned to be back in the saddle again. As it happened, their monthly, two-day horse and camel trek was just starting. The receptionist dashed out to stop them from leaving without me while I threw my luggage into my room and changed into my boots and akubra.

Only two of us went on horses while the others (a party of ten Germans) went on camels. The other horse rider, Grub, worked at Ross River and, after racing each other over the rough and dusty terrain for over half an hour (so exhilarating!) we walked the horses to give them a rest.

The camel riders were miles away and, in that wide space, I asked Grub, half jokingly, if I could get a job working there. He said a barman had been given the sack the previous night and if I spoke to the manager, I was sure to get a job. I told him that I had never worked in a bar, at a tourist resort or in any kind of accommodation or waiting job. That, he said with a smile, would be no obstacle - ask and the job would be mine. My soul expanded as the landscape did and the two days went by too quickly - riding under the wide blue sky and sleeping under the star-lit heavens was awesome.

When we got back to the main buildings, I asked about a job and Grub was right - I started my first bar job a few hours later. And, in that isloated pub in the middle of Australia, is where the Aboriginal people came to me ... which I'll explain in the next blog.

*Uluru is Ayers Rock and Kata Tjuta is The Olgas.

In the meantime, enjoy a little more of Arthur Bayly's story, continued from the previous blog ...

"Did you feel that?" asked Amanda quietly.

"Yes I did," whispered Toby.

It seemed as if the mysterious and gentle zephyr had touched them as one rather than each of them individually. They both felt this, somehow, but might have found it hard to explain it to others … even to themselves. They knew what had happened and the shared experience - though brief and simple - touched them deeply, though they knew not why. Their hands sought each other out and, as their fingers intertwined, it seemed that the massive room and corridor in which they were standing filled itself with a presence - warm and caring, somehow - and they felt a deep safety, a quiet unconcern, for what was about to unfold. All their uncertainties, fears and questions were enfolded in this presence, this sense of deep and ancient caring and they needed to do nothing but smile and wait for further guidance from within.

Toby put his arm around Amanda's shoulders and she leaned into him with a sigh.

"So, what are you two doing? Snogging?" asked Dottie in a loud and commanding voice as she strode down the corridor. Amanda and Toby separated, looking shocked and embarrassed, confirming Dottie's suspicions.

A Head Job
Wednesday, 14th March 2012, 8.16 a.m.

Arthur, Arthur, came a sound, a whisper on a breeze, that slipped quietly through his dreams. Arthur, Arthur slid through gently, serenely and on those words he sat, gliding down a grassy slope in the warm afternoon sun, guided by a grace that was not his own. He was content to be led on a word that felt familiar, down a hill he'd never seen but knew intimately. As he glided on, one Arthur behind the other, he realised he could lie back if he chose. Sitting up pleased him as he could see the flitting swallows above, the parting grass before him and the sun glinting on the sea far below. He approached the sea and it seemed to come no nearer.

As he looked up he fancied he could see - or was it feel? - a thudding in the clouds behind him.

He became happily drowsy and lay back on the two Arthurs with no sensation of their touch. Looking up he saw not sky but a face; a face he knew well, he supposed. The face was close, blurred, and its lips were moving, saying something - saying, "Arthur, Arthur," the very words he was lying on, sliding on. His eyes saw the face but didn't look at it - he looked through it, wondering - how could that be there, not the sky.

The thudding in the sky seemed to be closing in. It was definitely a feeling now.

The face moved back and the mouth - a familiar mouth, somehow - was still moving, saying Arthur and other words. He could see the eyes now and, like the mouth, looked sad happy … mmm, sad happy? Yes, that's what they looked like. The face still filled his sky as he slipped gently down the grassy slope towards the sea. There was a light now, behind the face, shining through hair and around the edges. There might be, perhaps, other sounds, human sounds and the birds had stopped chirping.

The face moved closer and seemed comforting; warmly comforting and he was pleased it was there. His forehead was touched gently, caressingly, and he smiled.

And then the smell of the grass gave way to the scent of roses … mmm, not quite roses, but a scent he knew well, a scent he longed would remain. The scent, whatever it was, revived old chipped memories, fragments of events unconnected, parts of a life that felt familiar, parts of several lives, perhaps - child-times, adult-times, baby-times, teenage-times, all scattered about as confetti in the gentle breeze of his mind. This scent, so familiar, brought with it smiles, disappointment, sweetness, loss, fear, calm, hurrying, boredom and exquisite peace as after love-making.

As he looked at her emerging face he realised he wasn't seeing it as he usually saw faces, saw bodies, saw things. There was no distinct nose or mouth or eyes, no individual pieces, different from other pieces. It was like an unfolding picture in lights but not individual, twinkling lights … it was a picture in light, one light, bright and subtle. He imagined he was looking at a patch of water on a still lake, into which a small pebble had been dropped, a hundred yards away. The surface of the water before him might be moving. It might not be moving. He was not sure. The light, her light, might be moving. It might not be moving. He was not sure. He knew her light to be different from the background light and the light of other beings but he wasn't sure how he was distinguishing these differences.

In the gentle light he sensed a concern, a worry about the container, the capsule, labelled as Arthur. Ah, yes, his small capsule - that was what she feared for. He understood her fears and was, at the same time, bemused for he knew there was nothing to fear, to worry over. The small capsules, with all their different labels, were not what was really there.

He looked in and saw … no, not saw … knew his capsule was open - perhaps for the first time - and a larger essence had been released to encompass … well, everything, really. There were no boundaries, no limits, and it just sort-of flowed into other essences, slightly separate but not.

The capsule he'd known so well seemed to be closed and, inside, it held all its fears and concerns. He was touched and the formless light of his essence enfolded her capsule and she burst into tears - a flood of tears so long held back and now released with the relief of an ancient knowing that cleansed face and soul.

"Arthur, you're back, you're awake!" came her voice through the mist of his gentle perplexity. Unused to such a way of seeing things … of knowing things … he relaxed, unconcerned, and enjoyed the small blissful waves of light as they caressed him.

21 - My Proofing Shero - Anna

The unsung heroes of writing and publishing are the proof-readers and my shero is Anna - AWBERP* - with whom I could not be with out ... for more reasons than that she proof-reads my work before you see it. I'm also married to her and so she's my shero in many, many more ways than just for editing my writings. Let's stick with writing for now and in this I give a Great Big Thanks to Anna Bradbury ... the writer's shero!

* Anna With Big Editing Red Pen ... of course!

And now, to continue with the perfectly-proofed story of Mary Collins, continued from yesterday ...

"No, no, not at all," said Sam, smiling and patting her hand. "No need for secrets here." As he said this she realised that the red velvet curtains were drawing themselves quietly together. As the alcove darkened, a light came on and, suddenly, between them, a small door opened and a solid barrel of a man squeezed himself through. Mary recognised him as Andrej the doorman, who, with his crewcut, could have passed as a bouncer at any London club. He closed the door and sat on the bench between them.

"So, Andrej, your brother is in trouble and wants to come here and start again? Like you did?" asked Sam quietly.

"Yes sir, he is good man and was in wrong place at wrong time," said Andrej in his thick Eastern European accent. "A bad man in Kutna Hora, near Prague, want to cover his tracks and so he accuse my brother of his deeds."

"And your brother - does he have some qualifications, some trade, some expertise that would recommend him to the British authorities?" asked Sam.

"Oh, yes, Dalek be champion wrestler like me and he be good, very good plumber, too," said Andrej, his eyes beseeching Sam's.

"Dalek? A plumber? Yes, we certainly need good plumbers here! You know we have the worst plumbing the world and we don't need any more English plumbers to make it worse. A shot of new plumbing blood is just what we need, Andrej, more hard-working, reliable Polish plumbers are just what we need. I will have a chat with a friend in the immigration business."

"Oh thank you, thank you, Mr Lord!" said Andrej.

"Shhh Andrej, please keep it quiet," said Sam evenly. "Now, do I have your number?"

"Ah yes, I have it written on paper here, Mr Lord," said Andrej, passing a piece of paper which Sam placed in his shirt pocket.
"Thank you Andrej. You need to get back to the door before you're missed," said Sam. "And you will hear from me very soon."

"Yes, it OK, Mr Henri look after door for me, but I go," said Andrej, standing. "Thank you from bottom of my heart, Mr Lord. Thank you so much." He disappeared back through the small door. Sam smiled uncertainly at Mary in the dim light of the alcove.

"So you're going to bypass the government system to ship this man to England … this Czech man who's in trouble with the law there …" said Mary, indignantly trying to put it all together.

"Yes I am, Mary, yes I am," said Sam firmly. "Andrej's had a chequered and abusive past and since he's been here he's been a model citizen and an asset to us all … in ways you don't yet understand."

"But it's illegal …" said Mary, still trying to get the information arranged neatly in her brain.

"Yes, it may well be but when the law's an ass, you've got to kick the ass in the ass and use other means to serve justice," said Sam as the curtain began to quietly slide back.

"But what do you know of this brother, this alleged innocent in trouble with the Czech law?" asked Mary, still aghast. "You might be getting yourself into great trouble too and …"

"Yes, I might be getting myself in trouble, Mary," said Sam, interrupting quietly. "But I'm taking a chance on behalf of a good and honest friend - something no immigration bureaucrat is ever going to do. Just don't judge too soon and I'm happy to tell you all when we have a little more time."

"But Sam, you can't just go …"

"Look Mary, do you remember before the last month's election, Michael Caine's latest movie came out?" asked Sam patiently.

"No," said Mary, puzzled by the change in direction.

"It was called Is Anybody There?," said Sam. "Anyway, floating round the hustings with our most probable prime-minister-to-be, David Cameron, was the normally apolitical Michael Caine."

"Ah, yes, I remember that. He was promoting Cameron's Youth Citizen Service Plan," said Mary.

"And did you hear what Mr Caine said about the Youth Citizen Service Plan?" asked Sam.

"No, I didn't, actually," said Mary.

"And nor did most people, actually," said Sam with a smile. "He just wandered round in front of the cameras, looking dastardly handsome and, when asked for a comment, talked mostly about his new movie. And you know what? That movie was the highest grossing British movie at that time."

"Oh," said Mary, putting the pieces together.

"Now, it was probably a very good movie and maybe our Mr Caine did, indeed, have a heart for the youth of this fair land," said Sam. "And no one's done anything illegal or immoral - we're all just trying to help ourselves and help those we respect and like."
"But that's not the same," said Mary, defiantly. "You're trying to break the law."

"No I'm not, Mary," said Sam patiently. "A chap I know in immigration will sift through things and find where the law supports our case and Andrej's brother will be free to enter England openly and legally."

"But he should apply like everybody else," said Mary, determined to be right.

"Well, maybe he should," said Sam. "But I know Andrej and I know he wouldn't pester me if the situation wasn't both real and urgent."

"But what if everyone tried to slide round the law for their friends?"

"They always have and they always will, Mary," said Sam, leaning back with his second whisky in hand. "Cardinal Wolsey was only able to afford his massive digs at Hampton Court because he got things done for Henry VIII, 500 years ago. And then he lost it because he couldn't get the Roman Catholic church to agree to Henry marrying Anne Boleyn. We've been doing each other favours, big and small, ever since time began and we'll continue to do them."

"But it seems so unfair to some people," said Mary.