Captain Webb versus the Newfoundland

Have you heard of the 'Stiff Upper Lip'?

Well I'm not sure I totally understand the concept. It was supposedly a foundation stone of British Imperialism. Something about self control, endurance and not displaying one's emotions, I think. The fact that when things are not going my way I like to let people know right away how bad I'm feeling, by body language or barking, apparently means that I don't have one. (A Stiff Upper Lip that is.)

Anyway, I was snuggled up on Gail's lap while she was watching a TV programme all about this famous British character trait, dozing fitfully, when a Newfoundland dog appeared on the screen and captured my attention.

Who knew that one of my species played a role, albeit a minor one, in the development of the Stiff Upper Lip when Queen Victoria was on the throne?

So there was this Captain Webb character, who in 1875 swam the English channel, appeared on match boxes and was generally considered a big hero. But before all this he accepted and won the challenge of staying immersed in the sea longer than a Newfoundland dog, thus demonstrating the nineteenth century Englishman's capacity to endure pointless discomfort without complaint. Or at least that's what Ian Hislop* claimed, more or less.

It's no wonder we lost the Empire is it...?

*Presenter of the TV programme 'Stiff Upper Lip: an Emotional History of Britain' 


PS from Gail: thank you for all your kind thoughts and prayers for HGD. When the body is over ninety years old, it is a challenge to recover from any sort of trauma. We are doing all we can for him and the latest report is that he has 'perked up a bit' and may even be home by the end of the week.

Gail shows me her holiday snaps

So Gail asked me if I would like to see some photos from her Newfoundland holiday.

To be honest, I was in two minds. I mean, why not rub it in Gail, that you were over the other side of the Pond, gallivanting with your friends, while I was stuck in prison 'my special vacation residence'.

Then she told me that she saw some statues of dogs, and I decided I was at least a teeny bit interested after all.

But first I was anxious to find out more about her travel companions, Marse, David and Jody, and most relieved to learn that they are all dog owners too, so must be a good influence. 

Marse, pictured below, lives in Tacoma, Washington State with Liddy, a part-corgi part-Tibetan spaniel, and Boo, a border collie who, as a tiny puppy, was rescued from a locked mail box by Marse and her Cuban sister-in-law (hence Boo, from buzón, Spanish for mail box). 

Marse in the cloud on top of Gros Morne

And David (Marse's youngest brother) and his wife Jody share their life in Austin Texas with a mellow Australian Shepherd, Jessy. 

David and Jody by Bakers Brook Waterfall

I can see from the pictures that there were lots of interesting places in Newfoundland where Liddy, Boo, Jessy and I could have thoroughly enjoyed exploring, had we not all been left at home. Or in our 'special vacation residences'. 

I would not have minded at all that the ground was so swampy the trails through the forest were mostly on boardwalks.

The houses in St Johns looked so colourful on the outside

And dog-friendly, surely, on the inside.

It would also have been nice to have met all Marse and David's relatives (their mother came from Newfoundland).  Here are Aunt Frieda and Uncle Dan in Corner Brook. 

Aunt Frieda won this year's local downhill ski race (over eighties category) and is president of the Scottish Country Dancing Club!

Oh and if only I had been there to appreciate Gail's lecture on the Table Lands Ophiolite Zone, where the serpentinised peridotite rock from the earth's mantle is exposed at the surface. It is not clear from the photo that Gail's American friends were all that enraptured by this rare geological occurrence.

I learn that in Newfoundland you are never far from water (which I, as a terrier, have mixed feelings about.)

You are never far from a moose either.

Gail says it wasn't like 'The Shipping News' after all. Apart from the fact that the local radio station did spend a lot of time talking about car wrecks...

Finally friends, can you help me with this one, please? Supposedly there is something amusing about the changing uses of this building on George Street, St Johns. Beats me though. Perhaps if you biggify it you will be able to tell me the joke?

What kind of a present is THAT!

So Gail goes all the way to Newfoundland and this is my reward...

"Well Bertie", she says, "you seem so fond of eating sheep droppings, I thought Puffin Poop would be just the perfect thing for you."

Friends, I've been missing you all, and am so looking forward to catching up with your news.

The Shipping News

In the normal course of things, I would be in quite a huff about having to announce that my computer help is jetting off on holiday very shortly, and I am being consigned to prison "my special vacation residence", so will be out of contact for a week or two.

However, I have been perusing a novel set in the land where Gail is meeting up with her American friends, and I am now not sure that I am the one that you should all be feeling sorry for.

Why ever do you think Gail might want to abandon me for ten days, when the rival attractions appear to be:

• Squidburger and seal flipper pie 
• Fog and damp (as if she doesn't get enough of that in Scotland)
• Winds so strong that houses are held down with cables*
• Dirty and dingy (but expensive) motels
• Gruesome boating accidents
• Peculiar natives (not all friendly)
• A local press concerned mainly with incest and car wrecks 

Did I do something terribly bad?

PS In case you are still puzzled as to Gail's destination, here is another clue. She expects to be seeing lots of these!

*I have been reminded that our garden shed in Torridon is similarly anchored.

Smelling of roses?

It's a thorny issue isn't it? How to avoid being defined by one's worst moments. (I think Bill Clinton has faced the same problem).

You know, I was SO well behaved for so much of the time on my trip down to Nottingham to stay with Gail's Mum and Dad. Impeccably well behaved, you might say.

There were no 'accidents' leaving marks on the carpet. At least not from me. (A certain person did drop a glass of red wine but that's another story).

Neither did my teeth leave any marks on the shins of my dearest human grandparents. Or on their hands or wrists.

I settled down happily at night in my cosy corner of the utility room, never making a noise or fuss. Of course it helped that I was given my first ever proper bone.

Even though I quickly spotted a hole in the hedge, I never once tried to escape from the garden into the neighbours. (The garden is too nice for that).

There was no hint of car sickness, despite the fact that we drove over a thousand miles.

The white Nottingham lace table cloth remained jam free.......

I performed all my puppy school lessons and Granny was impressed. She's a great believer in education.

So what ever could have gone wrong, I hear you ask?

Well, you know what it's like when someone invades your personal space? I mean, don't tell me, you humans, that you haven't stood in a queue at an airport and spotted some blimp-shaped traveller just in front of you and prayed that you won't be sat next to them?

I had always thought that the rear of Gail's Mini was my domain and mine alone. But then, last Friday, Gail decided we all would go on an outing to Newstead Abbey (ancestral home of poet Lord Byron). It's only a twenty minute drive. So I would travel in the back as usual, and all three humans could fit in the front surely? They're thin, not blimp-like, after all. And these new Minis are much bigger than the originals.

Well. Just imagine my horror when human Granny, despite her arthritic limbs, bent herself into the rear of the car and sat down beside me (I was in my crate). I can tell you, I voiced my disapproval of the arrangement VERY loudly. And yes I can keep going at full volume for twenty minutes, no problem.

Is there something about sound reverberating in a confined space? Human Grandad was sat in front of me in the passenger seat and I guess my mouth was only a few inches from his ear. When we arrived at the Newstead car park he was all dizzy and confused. Gail led me away from him and gave me a right old ticking off.

Luckily, Human Grandad recovered enough for a walk round the Abbey gardens. Just in case he should be starting to doubt the benefits of canine companionship, I took him over to see Lord Byron's monument to his beloved dog, a Newfoundland called Boatswain. On the monument is inscribed Byron's famous epitaph:

NEAR this spot

Are deposited the Remains

of one

Who possessed Beauty

Without Vanity,

Strength without Insolence,

Courage without Ferocity,

And all the Virtues of Man

Without his vices.

This Praise, which would be unmeaning flattery

If inscribed over human ashes,

Is but a just tribute to the memory of

"Boatswain", a Dog

Who was born at Newfoundland,

May, 1803,

And died at Newstead Abbey

Nov. 18, 1808.

But do you know, I don't think, that particular afternoon, that Gail's Dad was quite in agreement with Byron.

What do think will be remembered of my first trip to Nottingham?

Do you think I came out smelling of roses?