I've been thinking of my grandfather a lot lately. He was a very important man in my life and I miss him. All my memories of him are fond ones and I'd like to share a few of those memories with you.
Granpa Will & GranMa Mexie
I try to follow in his footsteps but I find that just as Ringo reminded us, "It don't come easy."
I remember my grandfather as having an attitude much like that of a giddy kid goat frolicking through a meadow of skylarks and wild onions in the springtime. I'll tell you why shortly.
Grandpa was considered a man of few words. Many people, spoke of him as 'the silent type' but he wasn't silent with me. He told me many stories, most of them stories of his younger days. I don't know why he chose to be so open with me but I'm happy that he did.
Mademoiselle from Armentieres
Grandpa didn't tell me war stories. But he often spoke of his time in France during the First World War. I like to think that he would have been a resistance fighter in the French Underground if not for the diverting allure of the weekend barn dances in the villages near the front lines.
He often remarked that a man must fight against the thought that he can quit dancing anytime he likes. A man is easily tempted that he can have one dance without getting into trouble. And then he finds it's the first dance that works it's magic.
He told many tales of sneaking into the villages to dance all night with the French girls and then sneaking back into the trenches before dawn for a couple hours' sleep before the day's fighting began.
Those stories sometimes ended with him singing a snatch of the Mademoiselle from Armentiers. All I remember of the song is:
Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentieres,
She hasn't been kissed in forty years,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.
Abner had a goat named Finnigan.
If you're not from these parts, I should probably mention that this story my grandfather tells took place in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in Tennessee. The year is somewhere in the mid-1920s.
Grandpa had a friend, back in the day, and the friend was a goatherd of sorts--he kept a small herd of milk goats. He also kept Finnigan, an adult male goat, for the same purpose, I suppose, that one adult male human is often found in small herds of people.
Finnigan was known for sneaking up behind people and giving people the butt in the butt. Sort of a battering ram, except in this case a battering goat.
One day my grandfather and Mr. Perrin decided to prank Abner. They hid themselves and waited for Abner to go inside the goat enclosure to fill the feeding trough, which was attached to the outside wall of the small barn. When Abner began pouring corn into the trough, the two practical jokers walked up to the fence and began a conversation with him.
Abner paused, of course, and turned to greet his visitors. This diversion allowed Finnigan time to walk closer to the barn to see what all the fuss was about. When Grandpa and Mr. Perrin saw Finnigan taking an interest, they pushed 'play' to get their little plan started.
"Finish feedin' the goats," Granpa told Abner. "When you finish we'll have a beer on the porch."
"Sure thing," said Abner. "I got a powerful thirst for sure."
Abner turned back to face the trough and the barn wall. That move caught Finnigan's attention. I'm sure Grandpa and Mr. Perrin were elbowing each other as they imagined what was about to happen. Abner bent to pour the grain and Finnigan pawed the ground. It must have been a struggle for the two men to hold their laughter. Finnigan charged.
The goat caught Abner in the seat of the pants just as he was bending. It was a perfect storm of just the right alignment with Abner's head and the barn wall.
The poor man went straight into and through the wall with the feeding trough following him.
By the time Granpa was halfway through the story, his laughter was as genuine and as hearty as it had been on that day so many years before. Long before he came to the punchline, he was crying with laughter.
Grandpa never repeated stories the way most of us do and although I heard it only that one time, I still remember him sitting on our porch and sharing it with me.
Welcome back to the 21st Century.
My grandfather, W.C. as he was affectionately known, is at the top of my list of favorite relatives. I miss him every day. I always remember him coming out onto the porch after a good meal and pausing to take in the view before placing his hat on the side of his head, dipping it ever so slightly over the right eye, just so.
I used to have a hat exactly like the one he wore and I'm going to have another like it one day. Come to think of it, that's what I want for Christmas. I'll begin looking for it now.
Thanks for reading. It's always good to see you here at The Circular Journey.